


Shamrock Equation

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: Unleash Me From My Darkness [3]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alexithymia, Alternate Universe, Alternative Lifestyles, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Baking, Because with all the angst I just need to fluff things up, Butt Plugs, Canon Divergent Characters, Caretaking, Chastity Device, Childhood Trauma, Coming Out, Cooking, Coping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Diapers, Dom/sub, Dom/sub marriage, Domestic Discipline, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Dorks in Love, Eating Disorders, Embroidery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Figging, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Food Issues, Foster Care, Gardens & Gardening, Healing, Homemaker Ron Tully, Honeymoon, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, Love, Lullabies, M/M, Malignant stress, Massage, Mental Health Issues, Minor Characters Are Not Very Important, Modern family - Freeform, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Canon all over the fucking place, Not Canon Compliant, Obedience, Obedience Kink, Orphanage, Over the Knee, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Personal Growth, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Punishment, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Shame, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, So Married, So off canon Kurt Sutter would have a heart attack if he knew, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Tully is a homemaker, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings, Work In Progress, Yoga, at all, binge eating, dominant!Chibs, it's all consensual, submissive!Juice, versatile!Tully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 135
Words: 171,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: Since my "short smut story" committed treason and rebelled against me like 110 chapters ago, I give up and just keep on with this absolute crack ship. "Shamrock Equation" picks up a few weeks after "Love me at my darkest..." ended and of course, this story wont make much sence if you've not read the first two parts in the series.Remember:1. It's AU and non-canon, meaning there is no Samcro, Ron Tully is neither a nazi nor a rapist and just about everything about SoA except for three characters, some of their show features and looks is changed.2. I LOVE to make completely non-canon shit in fanfics. In fact, it's very rare for me to keep close to canon, and if you don't like the idea of using these characters outside canon stuff, you're hereby warned. I'm going so way off canon here, it's basically just me loving the idea of making porn out of hot men, okay?3. Comments that complaints about lacking canon content, or me turning Tully into a very non-nazi lover, will receive politely yet a bit annoyed answers.4. Always read the tags. ALWAYS. Also: not all tags will be added right away, but added as the story goes on.Have fun and remember: this is marked explicit for a reason.





	1. Juice

“You look… _amazing,_ babe!”  
“Thanks, hon.”  
  
He flashed his grin, feeling like he was a bit out of practice, and tried not to look around the office. Elle hugged him hard.  
  
”I’ve been worried, you know.”  
“Why?”  
“For a start, you weren’t at home.”  
“I was staying with… friends.”  
“Oh, right. _Friends_. But seriously, though, you look like you’ve been to a spa or something.”  
  
Juice gave a small laughter now, because his co-worker had no idea how close to the truth that actually was. For a total of seven weeks he’d stayed with his lovers since his breakdown and although he wasn’t fully healed yet, Dr. Case had deemed him fit to start working two days a week to begin with. Truth be told, Juice felt better than he’d had in a long time.  
  
“Ortiz, welcome back!”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
  
Mr. Daniels hadn’t been pleased with him staying home sick for this long, Juice knew that, but it had little to do with his person and more to do with the fact that the most difficult customers usually ended up in Juice’s work load, since he was the best technician they had. His boss even smiled.  
  
“When that doc of yours told me you needed about two months, I thought she was kidding.”  
  
Juice smiled too, a little nervous.  
  
“Me too, sir. But I was a wreck for weeks, could barely walk. Had I not gotten help when I did, doc said I would’ve ended up in a really ugly burnout, taking years instead of months.”  
  
He shook his head in disbelief, because it was honestly difficult to imagine how close he’d been to that edge. Two months of Daddy’s and Papi’s care had been like having a part of his life gilded, in a way like getting a taste of the childhood he’d never had. It hadn’t been easy, still wasn’t and Juice doubted it would be smooth sailing any time soon, but all in all, he felt so much better and he knew it showed.  
  
His boss even looked pleased, patting his shoulder before moving on to his own office.  
  
“Well, _I’m_ sure as hell glad you nipped it in the bud, Ortiz. We’ve missed you. Perez, Yost, you up-date Ortiz on the latest, I’m late for a breakfast meeting.”  
  
A little smirk from Elle and another co-worker, Tyler Yost, behind Mr. Daniels’ back told Juice all he needed to know about how much his boss had “missed” him. The man had probably driven half the staff to ulcers, himself included, as usual incapable of planning ahead and always ending up finishing shit in the last minute.  
  
Dr. Case had been very clear about stress though, and Juice actually believed he’d be able to stick to her – and his lovers’ – guidelines now. Mr. Daniels was demanding, messy and about as health conscious as a ten-year-old with free access to McDonalds, but with the support of Papi and Daddy, Juice felt confident he could hold off at least some of the stress the man unknowingly spread around him.  
  
As Juice sat down, Tyler dumped an enormous pile of papers on his desk with a hopeless smile and then, both him and Elle cracked up. Juice just shook his head, burying his face in his hands and groaned.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Tyler… Please, tell me you’re fucking kidding me…”  
“Welcome back to the mine, Juice.”  
  
Juice flipped him the bird and got a smug grin in return. He was back.


	2. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same morning, about the same time as in chapter 1.

“Jesus Christ, _turn it down_!”  
  
Filip’s voice could barely be heard from the upbeat power metal shaking the walls of his home, but then it turned down and Ronea showed up in the doorway with soapy hands and a surprised face.  
  
“Baby, aren’t you running late?”  
“Forgot my lunch.”  
“Oh, it’s on the countertop. Please, eat the celery.”  
“Yes, ma’m.”  
“Just because you’re worried ’bout Juice, doesn’t give you any reason to be snappy, hon.”  
“I’m not worried.”  
“Yes, you are.”  
  
Sometimes it sucked having a husband who was almost always right. Ronea was doing the dishes from breakfast and Filip muttered as he grabbed the nutritiously balanced lunchbag. Juice had gotten a box with different partitions and while it was in stainless steel and didn’t remind at all about a kid’s version, Filip absolutely refused to use one himself. He’d used brown paper bags for twenty years and that suited him just fine, thank you very much.  
  
“What’s with the sighs, baby?”  
“If ye could stop thinking the worst everytime I make a sound, that’d be fucking great, Ronea.”  
  
Filip internally slapped himself before even finishing the sentence and Ronea slowly turned around from the sink, wiped his hands on the towel and calmy crossed his arms.  
  
“Of course, _sir._ Anything you say, _sir._ ”  
  
His voice was very calm and smoothe, but beneath it there was a surface of bloody granite, showing that this wasn’t a meek Ronea at all, but one about to be royally pissed off very soon. Filip and his husband had their own way of teasing each other, yes, but Filip hadn’t been teasing now, he’d been downright rude and a part of him was actually relieved Ronea knew that and wouldn’t take it. Filip sighed.  
  
“Fuck… I’m sorry, Ronea, tha’ was… jus’ bloody pathetic.”  
“Uh-huh…”  
“Don’ know wha’ I was thinking… Shouldna have behaved like tha’. I’m really sorry, lovey.”  
”I know, baby. C’mere.”  
  
Disappointing Ronea was one of the worst things Filip knew of, but hurting him was way worse and he still felt like an arsehole when his husband pulled him in for a hug, nuzzling his hair.  
  
“He’s gonna do just fine, Filip.”  
“Wha’ if he panics…?”  
“You _know_ he’s gonna call me at lunchtime and keep me updated and he’s slept so well for the last two weeks, been so relaxed.”  
“I know…”  
“It’s not like you to get this worried, baby.”  
  
Filip sighed and planted a small kiss in the nape of Ronea’s neck.  
  
”Guess I’m just a wee bit edgy…”  
“How about I give you a massage tonight?”  
“I’m being rude to ye, an’ ye’re offering a massage?”  
“Anything to get you out of my kitchen and stop self-loathing, old man. I have dishes and shopping to do, a thousand errands to run and speed metal to listen to. Now off to work before Tig calls.”  
  
Ronea gave his warm smile and kissed his nosetip, teasing him.  
  
“Love you.”  
“Love ye too. Thanks for putting up with me.”  
”Filip…”  
  
Filip put his hands up in defeat and grabbed the lunch.  
  
”I know, I know. No self-loathing an’ ye have stuff to do. See ye tonight, lovey.”  
”Have a nice day, baby. Drive safely.”  
”Always.”


	3. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronea, the homemaker, back in business. Been a little busy in the last days :)

As soon as his husband had left, Ronea turned up the music again and went back to the dishes. He finished it, put it to dry on the stand and wiped the kitchen surfaces. Dinner tonight was breaded codfish with mash and peas and he took out the fish from the freezer, putting it to defrost in the fridge before getting the mealplanner. He sat down at the table and started writing, enjoying the peace and quiet. About five seconds later, the homemaker started to cry.  
  
Crying was not a big issue for him, in general. It certainly had been at one time, but he was a young man then, in a time and place where crying would always be seen as a weakness. It was the same with Filip. Not that Ronea could even guess how a boy growing up to a teen and young man in this day and age felt about such things, but surely some shit must’ve changed since the 70’s and 80’s. Or maybe not.  
  
Now he sat with his face in his detergent smelling hands, sobbing like there was no fucking tomorrow and worst of all: he didn’t have a fucking clue why. It sure as hell wasn’t about Filip’s little growling, Jesus Christ, they knew each other and were fucking humans with all the little annoyances and irritations that came with simply _living_ with the same person for more than twenty years. Ronea hadn’t even been hurt, just annoyed and certainly not taking any of it personally, so what the hell was this about?  
  
Normally, Ronea Telford-Tully was an analytical person who fairly easily could trace his reactions back to their source and often stop unnecessary outburts like this before they happened, but today something was different.  
  
Could it be worry for Juice? Well, to be perfectly honest, Roneas was a little bit worried about his boy, but not in a way that could explain this. Absolutely not. Filip? No, nothing to worry about there either. Ronea’s husband was, if anything, less worried these days as Juice had become a more or less permanent resident in their home. Nothing was actually decided yet. Juice still had his apartment and their agreement hadn’t changed per se. It was just a given that until their lover had proved to himself and them, that he was fit to work and look after himself again, he’d be staying as their convalescent/guest/inherent. They wouldn’t make the final decision about it, with Juice actually leaving his apartment, until all three of them had settled properly and were content with the new situation.  
  
Maybe that was the issue, Ronea mused as the crying calmed down enough for him to think a little clearer. He put the kettle on and made himself a cup of herbal tea, blew his nose and lit a joint. In the last weeks, Juice had become more and more himself again, stronger and healthier and more confident. Seven weeks of almost constant caring for his lover, had put a lot of Ronea’s normal routine on hold and now, as he was supposed to pick it up again, it just felt strange and… lonely.  
  
Ronea mad an offended huff over his cup, the weed smoke blending with the steam from the hot lavender tea. Him? The introverted homemaker? _Lonely?_ What an insult. He loved being alone, thank you very much, and he had far better things to do than sobbing over his tea like some hormone drenched teen. All he needed was his routines and a good spanking. Ronea hadn’t been breaking any rules this weekend and had no plans on doing it now, but if Filip found it necessary, he’d spank him on Tuesdays either for rulebreaking or emotional relief. The thought of that made the homemaker calmer inside. He didn’t have to dwell on this alone or wonder if or when to tell Filip. If he couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell his husband today, he’d have to take that conversation over his lap and together they’d figure out what it was.  
  
Ronea picked up his mealplanner again and resolutely put the tangled emotions back in a safe place where they wouldn’t disturbe his day any further. He had, after all, lots of work to do.


	4. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day back at work quickly gets... a little unexpected.

“You’re not coming with us, Juice?”  
“Sorry, but I’ve got lunch with me today.”  
“Someone’s getting cheap.”  
  
Juice rolled his eyes at Tyler, who grabbed his coat and made ready to join Elle. She on the other hand threw a curious look at the beef and tomato sandwich, small pasta and veggie salad, homemade smoothie and serial bar in Juice’s packed lunch.  
  
“I’d say someone’s turning into a health freak. That looks like something a soccer mom would make for her kids.”  
  
Picturing the absolute offense on Papi’s face, had he heard being compared to a soccer mom, made Juice crack up a bit over his pineapple mango smoothie and Elle rose her eyebrows.  
  
“No way in hell you made all that this morning, hon.”  
“Who said I did it this morning?”  
”That’s your secret lover’s doing.”  
  
He almost dropped his sandwich and Tyler laughed.  
  
”Man, you weren’t home sick. You were being spoiled by your girlfriend, Ortiz!”  
“I was sick and I have no girlfriend.”  
”You broke up?”  
  
Elle looked so disappointed Juice realised he’d not told her. Or anyone. He’d had so many secrets from so many people for so long. He was just about to nod and play on when he suddenly pictured Daddy’s face before him, not disappointed but sad that his boy never dared to be himself with anyone aside from him and Papi. Juice sighed.  
  
“No, I didn’t because there never was any. I made her up.”  
”What?”  
  
Elle stared at him and Juice swallowed.  
  
”She’s a… guy. I’m gay, alright.”  
  
There was a short moment of incredulous silence from his two co-workers and then Tyler started laughing, slamming down a hard hand onto Juice’s shoulder.  
  
“Good one, Ortiz, you almost fooled me, man!”  
“No, I’m serious, man. I’m gay and this… overly healthy lunch is the work of my… partner.”  
  
He’d almost slipped _my papi_ and silently thanked God for not making things that awkward. Tyler was silent now and then Elle folded her arms.  
  
“I’m never forgiving you for this, baby.”  
”For what?”  
”Here I’ve been _praying_ for a gay friend to go shopping with and when I finally get one, he _hates_ shopping…”  
  
Juice shrugged.  
  
“Life’s hard, blondie.”  
“Asshole.”  
  
She smiled now, though, and Juice suddenly found himself in a bear hug.  
  
“You’re an idiot, Juicy, you know that.”  
“If I disagree, you’ll choke me, right?”  
”Yep.”  
”I’m an idiot.”  
”And I’ve missed you. Don’t think you’re getting out of this, hon. You’re gonna tell me every single detail.”


	5. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your husband is out of control...

”You’re early, baby.”  
”Aye. Had some extra hours to take from.”  
  
That wasn’t a lie. Technically. Filip didn’t lie to his husband, only not mentioning that he’d used that overtime right now because he was still worried. Juice wouldn’t be home for another three hours and Ronea looked like…  
  
“Ye’ve been crying, lovey?”  
“No.”  
  
Alright. Sensitive to the point of denying the obvious. Filip took his cut and shades off.  
  
”Ye’re still mad at me for this morning?”  
“Why would I?”  
”Last time ye dinnae greet me with a kiss, was when me an’ the lads ate all yer biscuits an’ ye found Tig sleeping in the kitchen with yer raspberry jam all over’im. An’ tha’ was… two years ago.”  
“Actually three.”  
“Two, three, four, tha’s not the point. Wha’s the matter, Ronea?”  
” _Nothing_ , except you… nagging at me all the time! The fuck are you doing home this early anyway? Are you trying to police me, or what? Fucking… mother hen.”  
  
Swearing, accusing, _name calling_ … Someone needed a spanking badly but Filip was too angry for that now. He didn’t spank his husband while being angry because that lead to things getting out of control and what Ronea needed was for Filip to have control over his own feelings or else any chastisement was completely useless and only harming.  
  
As it was now, the one being out of control was Ronea, who absolutely had been crying and… _gnawing on his cuticles_. It wasn’t nearly as bad as cutting, but still a worrying sign that something indeed wasn’t right with the man. Filip threw a quick look at the watch on the wall and sighed. He really didn’t want to do this, but he had his obligations and he nodded at his husband.  
  
“The prune hook, Ronea. _Now._ I’ll meet ye upstairs.”  
  
The glimpse of defiance was there and the way Ronea left the kitchen with nothing even close to submission in his posture had Filip close his eyes and shake his head. His husband was obeying, yes, but not in spirit, which meant his backside would have a rough night ahead. At least it gave Filip some time to think.  
  
While waiting, he went to the bedroom and changed from his pretty greasy working clothes, had a very quick shower and put some jeans and a grey tanktop on. He sat down on the neatly made bed and listened to the soft steps coming from the stairs.  
  
His husband, although, didn’t look the least soft. His face was carved in stone and he silently handed Filip the perfectly cut rod and knealed.  
  
“Thank ye. Anything ye wannae say, Ronea?”  
  
Nothing. Not even headshake. Filip gave up.  
  
”Suit yerself, lovey. Drop yer pants an’ panties and bend over.”  
  
At least he obeyed that order and Filip forced away the annoyance and anger he felt, just letting Ronea lay across his lap for a moment before he started. His husband needed something to shock him out of his most likely very unhealthy thoughts and Filip knew exactly how much force and speed he needed in the strokes to achieve that.  
  
One third in, he stopped for a moment, squeezing Ronea’s nape firmly but not to hurt him.  
  
“Ye alright, lovey?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Ronea’s voice was small and had no sass or rudeness. Still hard, but the edge was gone and Filip continued with another third of the intended amount. His husband was gasping now, on the verge of tears and Filip rubbed his shoulder.  
  
“Ye’re doing well, darlin’, we’re done soon. I love ye.”  
  
Maybe he wasn’t fair now, using his softer voice and reassuring Ronea before he had a chance to explain himself and ask for forgiveness, but something with his husband seemed so desperately sad beneath the sass and anger, Filip couldn’t help himself. He handed Ronea a pillow to clutch before starting with the last hard strikes from the rod.  
  
His husband was weeping and once Filip was sure he wouldn’t be able to compose himself too quickly, he stopped and almost roughly arranged them on the bed so he could cuddle him. He cradled the sobbing head in his arms, feeling how Ronea finally leaned into his chest, just crying and crying.  
  
Normal people maybe would find that far more worrying than some rudeness, but what was normal to most people, wasn’t Filip’s and Ronea’s way of normal. Filip held him very gently, just firm enough to make him feel safe, placing small kisses onto the black hair.  
  
“Sometimes I wish we could jus’ get ye all cried out without ye feeling the need to get yerself into punishment first, my love.”  
“I… I’m sorry, Filip. I’m sorry, I was just… a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t have…”  
”Hey, calm down, baby. Ye’re forgiven, alright, don’t speak ill o’ yerself. I know tha’ to behave like tha’, something’s wrong an’ now’s the time to address this.”  
“I can’t, Filip, I don’t know what the fuck I’m thinking… or feeling…”  
“Then we’ll figure tha’ out together, lovey. As always.”  
“Can you… just hold me first?”  
  
Filip’s heart would always melt from that. Utterly and completely. _That_ was the submission he wanted from his husband. Not ashamed, afraid or subdued, but the one allowing Ronea the rest and comfort he so badly needed.


	6. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and when your husband takes control.

It was hard to understand how his husband managed to do this without making him feel completely crushed from humiliation. Right now, as Ronea was still quietly crying in his arms, it may seem like it hadn’t helped, but good Lord, it had. It had been a long time since he’d felt the need to cry like this and it wasn’t due to the physical pain even if it had been a fairly good spanking.  
  
“Filip, I ca… can’t stop…”  
“We have time, darlin’. Please, don’ be afraid anymore, lovey. I know ye dinnae want to be rude, but ye were an’ we’ve addressed tha’ now, so I order ye not to beat yerself up for tha’ anymore.”  
  
What twenty minutes earlier would’ve set off his anger and defiance, now only calmed him. He was Filip’s submissive husband in this moment, nothing more, and it was everything he wanted. To obey and get comfort from the man holding him. Ronea nuzzled into his neck, still crying but a little calmer now. Filip hummed.  
  
“I knew something wasn’t right this morning, couldna jus’ figure out wha’. An’ for the record, I’m well aware I snapped at ye before I left an’ I’m sorry for tha’.”  
“Already forgave you, muppet.”  
  
Ronea’s using of Filip’s slang for idiot, the one he only used in affection, made his Scottish husband smile in his hair.  
  
“How was yer day, lovey? Really…”  
  
During a fraction of a second, Ronea thought of not telling, but there was no chance in hell he’d be able to lie or conceal anything right now.  
  
“Had a meltdown of some sort.”  
“Ye hurt yerself?”  
  
The fact that his husband still thought it could happen, so many years after the last time, just set Ronea’s tears off again and he shook his head.  
  
“No, I… I was… when you left I finished the dishes, prepared the dinner and made a cup of tea. Was about to plan the food and then I just… started crying out of nowhere.”  
“Oh, lovey… I’m so sorry for swearing at ye an’ jus’ being a right bastard.”  
“Wasn’t crying for that, silly.”  
“But it was still mean an’ I shouldna have done it. Pretty sure it dinnae help making things better for ye today.”  
“Probably not, but I have no idea why I had a meltdown.”  
  
Filip tangled his fingers Ronea’s hair, massaging the scalp as he arranged them so they could face each other. The touch was very soothing and Ronea had now stopped trying to control his tears.   
  
“It’s so stupid, Filip…”  
“But _ye’re_ not, lovey. Try an’ tell me without judging yerself at the same time, aye?”  
“You really took out overtime for this?”  
“Aye.”  
”Why?”  
”Ye really have to ask tha’, darlin’?”  
”Guess not…”  
”Try again, baby.”  
”No, I don’t have to ask, Filip.”  
”An’ why’s tha’?”  
  
Ronea sighed.  
  
“Because I’m your first priority and being my husband is more important than being a biker or a mechanic.”  
“Uh-huh. An’ tha’s because…?”  
”You love me.”  
”More than anything or anyone in the world, lovey.”  
”Except Juice.”  
”Darlin’, ye’ve been my husband for more than twenty years an’ there’s jus’ nothing tha’ compares. Of course I love Juice just as much, but wha’ I have with ye is not the same. Part o’ tha’ is the fact tha’ I jus’ knew I had to come home early so I could have a moment all alone with ye.”  
  
It felt like it had been a long time since they had that. A moment for themselves. Not that they’d not had it, but it just didn’t feel the same since… since Juice turned ill. Ronea swallowed.  
  
“Guess I… just wasn’t prepared.”  
“For?”  
“How empty the house would feel… I mean, I was actually longing for it this morning. Excited to get back into the routine again and…”  
“And then I came back interrupting an’ being rude to ye, on top of it...”  
“Yeah… Looked after Juice for so long now, I thought it would feel nice to, you know, get some alone time again. I’ve been looking forward to it, but…”  
“But instead ye jus’ felt lost an’ lonely an’ couldna figure out why? Been walking around all worried an’ on the edge all day, huh?”  
  
Ronea made a sound between a laugh and a sob.  
  
“Stop knowing me so well, Filip…”  
“Fat chance, lovey. Still learning things about ye, though.”  
  
The loving hands kept carding through his hair, rubbing circles over his shoulders.  
  
“I had no idea ye were so stressed out from the changes, baby.”  
“Well, that makes two of us, ‘cause I was kinda surprised too.”  
“Whoever said marriage was a boring business…”  
  
Now Ronea laughed for real, only a few tears still lingering.   
  
“I felt so lonely when you and Juice left. Jesus, Filip, I’ve not felt _lonely_ like that for… more than a decade.”  
“Oh, lovey… Why dinnae ye just call me?”  
”Cause I didn’t know I felt lonely until about now, that’s why. Wasn’t hiding anything, I just… didn’t know.”  
”My male intuition was right, then.”  
”Male intuition, my ass… You’ve been sulking all day, haven’t you?”  
“Now who’s the one knowing his husband too well?”   
  
The tension he’d unknowingly carried around since breakfast was coming off now, his husband’s gentle pets were starting to mess up his clothes and hair a bit and Ronea’s body reacted like a fucking traffic light. He bent into Filip’s chest.  
  
“Please, fuck me.”  
  
Although spankings didn’t turn him on, sometimes they made his most submissive side so prominent, so vibrant and alive Ronea could go mad from it. A need to not only be fucked or passive, but claimed as if he didn’t already belong to Filip but had to be reassured. A bodily confirmation: _you’re my husband, I’m yours, and I give myself over so you can take care of me as you’ve promised..._  
  
Filip didn’t even answer with words, he just turned Ronea on his stomach and started rubbing his not yet fully hard cock along the crack of Ronea’s glowing ass. He was already so relaxed when Filip slipped the syringe with lube inside him and a moment later his thighs were spread wider, giving room for his husband who slowly pressed inside him, filled him up in a smooth motion.  
  
It wasn’t lovemaking or even a quickie, but more of a sealing of who they were. Filip’s hips were grinding against Ronea’s sensitive buttocks, reminding him that he’d been a disobedient husband who needed a firm hand to guide him and that the man thrusting into him was the one who’d always provide it and never stop loving him. And just like that, Ronea’s sense of confusion, worry and self-despise, melted away.


	7. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, lovelies. I've recentely had some changes - good ones! - in my daily life which unfortunately leaves me a little less to write, so the updates may come less often, but since I'm really not good at anything even remotely close to moderation, I might just as well do the exact opposite... Oh, well, here's the new chapter :)

This wasn’t how he’d planned it. To be honest, he hadn’t planned it at all. For a person so desperate for control, Juice was starting to get really sloppy and that was extremely worrying. He hadn’t planned on earning himself a spanking by missing curfew the first day back from sick leave, so when the workday was over, he nicely declined a drink out with Elle and quickly went on his way.  
  
He had no real plan on where to go, so for some reason he ended up in the park, not far from the spot where he’d met Papi alone for the first time during lunch break. He sat down by a tree, feeling the need to press his knees onto his chest and the position actually made him feel a little better. More grounded, so to say.  
  
It felt strange, being alone like this. Not good or bad, just… different. When he’d finally dared to speak what he really wanted, to stay with his lovers, and they’d expressed the same wish, it had been more than overwhelming. A part of Juice still had a very difficult time believing or even accepting what Daddy and Papi said. That he could stay, that the room he’d not even been able to choose colors for, was really his. Bodily he was as good as new, but mentally? That was a whole other question.  
  
The afternoon sun felt a little too hot today, or maybe it was just the poor air condition at the office still lingering in his body. Somehow he’d not recalled his workplace being quite so crowded, stuffy and noisy. Compared to the airy and fresh feeling in Daddy’s and Papi’s home, it was almost sickly. Too many people, too many smells and constant sounds of phones, keyboard rattling and talking. The only place to muffle the sounds was the restroom and even there they were impossible to escape.  
  
As the minutes went by and Juice remained sitting, he started to feel how weary he really was. Since the sick leave begun, he’d started to learn how to interpret his body better and not misreading or at lest not ignoring it’s signs. What was making his shoulders and nape ache now, wasn’t the office chair or work position, but stress. Was it just because it was the first day back? Possibly. But he had two days off now and plenty of time to rest. With Papi doing food and laundry for him, not to mention cleaning, shopping and dishes, Juice could just go home and sit down by a set table and then rest for the remain of the evening.  
  
The guilt and self-hatred he’d kept buried so deep since the healing started for real he’d hardly noticed it for weeks, suddenly came back with full force.  
  
What a pathetic little shit he was. A grown man unable to live on his own, who called his lovers Daddy and Papi, who’d accepted and even craved wearing diapers and being fed with a bottle up until two weeks ago. Sore stomache or not, that was just pathetic. And now, on his first day at work, he’d stepped out of the closet without really thinking about it until afterwards.  
  
Juice balled his fists, not remembering the jar with sedatives in his satchel. He’d promised to take one if he got a panic attack but his mind didn’t register the feeling for what it was. To reckognise feelings and distinguish between different kinds of them, Juice and his Daddies had discovered was a tricky business for him. The most obvious sign of that, was the way he handled food.  
  
He’d had one episode of binging and purging at his Daddies’ house. One night three weeks ago, he’d woken up feeling thirsty and left the bed to get himself a glass of water. As soon as he’d went into the kitchen, seeing the pantry door unlocked, he’d been unable to control himself. The urge came back so strong he couldn’t resist it and for almost ten minutes he’d crammed in a whole tin of cookies, a jar of strawberry jam, four cinnamon rolls and half a box of cereals before Papi and Daddy woke up and realised what was going on.  
  
Daddy had seen the aftermath of it once, but Juice had never been caught in the midst of a binge before, especially not with food that wasn’t his and he’d been absolutely convinced they’d throw him out, after spanking him with the rattan cane with raw ginger up his ass.  
  
That, of course, hadn’t happened at all. What he’d gotten was loving voices, kind words and gentle hands. Hands that held a bucket under his face, that stroke his hair and put a warm wheat pillow onto his brutally aching stomach.  
  
He’d not been punished for wasting money by stealing nice food, just held and comforted. His lovers were so nice to him, they loved and cared for him, treated him like family and how did he repay them? By being a complete brat who only thought of himself and his own worries.  
  
Papi was probably really relieved to have the house all to himself again today. No whiny Juice to look after and entertain all the time like some baby. It was high time Juice earned his living again and started to bring in money so he could at least repay the money his long convalescense had cost his generous lovers.  
  
He’d not planned on being a burden, he never did, but as always that’s what he ended up being to the people letting him close. A parasite, that’s what Juan Carlos Ortiz was and parasites shouldn’t be let inside decent peoples’ homes.


	8. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy finds his lil' one and he's not in a good place...

It hadn’t been his idea with the tracer, but Juice’s and the only reason Filip had accepted it was that it was controlled soley by his boy. Whenever he wanted to, he could simply erase the app because the very idea of doing something that was dangerously close to controlling in a bad way, always sent Filip right back to the first time he’d reluctantly accepted Ronea’s plea for him to take control and the ghost of an abusive arsehole was still very present in his then boyfriend’s mind.  
  
How much was too much? When did firmness become a stranglehold? Willful obedience turning into violence on your own true wishes? Filip didn’t know how to turn the tracer function off, only Juice did, and that made it less of a tool for control and more of a silent way for the lad to tell his lovers something was amiss. That although he felt unable to come home or even pick up his phone, he was alright with being searched for. A silent confirmation that he wasn’t deliberately hiding or staying away, just trapped in a circle of bad thoughts and feelings.  
  
Filip wasn’t speeding on the way, or running when he’d parked his bike. His boy was sitting on a quite hidden spot and he looked so… small. Lonely and fragile, like a kid contemplating whether it was safe or not to go home. That was a feeling Filip knew all too well and he walked calmly to the tree serving as a support for Juice’s back. The lad startled as he looked up and yes, that was very much the look of a man absolutely convinced he’d fucked up and would be severely punished and probably abandoned too. Filip gave him his softest smile.  
  
“There ye are, little darlin’… What’s happened, lovey?”  
  
Calm kindness. No reprimands for missing curfew or not answering the phone, Filip had learned enough about his young lover to know this wasn’t a good time for any kind of scolding. He lowered himself close to him, making himself less towering and stroke his own hair back.  
  
“Ye hurt yerself, kiddo?”  
  
No answer, but it wasn’t necessary. Filip could smell the vomits even if there was no physical evidence of the binge. Juice had his fists pressed to his stomach, his face looked puffy and his eyes red-rimmed. Filip opened his cut and took out a bottle of water, a small box with grapes and some wetwipes.   
  
“Can I help ye clean up a bit, lovey?”  
  
A nod. Better than nothing and Filip very carefully  wiped his face. He then opened the bottle and put it to Juice’s lips. The lad rinsed before taking a small sip and accepting one of the grapes. His potassium levels were normal now, but Filip didn’t want to take any chances and Juice needed sugar. He slowly handfed him three more grapes, one at the time, and then another sip of water.   
  
“Ye’ve taken yer med?”  
  
The headshake told him no and Filip got one for him from his pocket. He stored a jar of Juice’s sedatives in his cut for occasions like this and the lad accepted one of the pills and some more water.   
  
“Good boy, Juicy. Wan’ me to hold ye, lil’ one? Can Daddy hold his Juicyboy?”  
  
Another nod and Filip pulled him into his arms. The spot they were at wasn’t completely private, of course, but that didn’t matter now. Juice didn’t seem to hesitate at all even if he didn’t actively leaned in but let Filip bring him closer into his embrace.  
  
They were just sitting like that for a little while without talking. Filip simply petted him softly, hoping it would bring some relaxation along with the meds. Juice was still tense though and Filip kissed his hair.  
  
“Ye’ve not broken any rules, lovey. Aye, ye missed curfew but we don’t punish panic attacks, as ye know.”  
  
It was important to remind him, to never assume he’d taken it to heart and could go unsaid. Filip and Ronea still didn’t know many details about Juice’s previous life, only enough to make some sort of map to follow. Early and longterm abuse from foster parents, maybe foster siblings too, and self-esteem so low the only friends he’d ever made were very shallow and consisted of co-workers, bikers he shared a garage with and nothing more.   
  
Partners, yes, but at least one of them had raped him and even after the breakthrough when Filip and Ronea spoke of their own backgrounds, Juice had not been ready to open up any further and he wasn’t speaking now either. Filip rubbed his shoulder.  
  
”How’s yer tummy, laddie?”  
   
A small sob had the tense body shiver and then Juice started crying. The fact that he didn’t hold it back despite their location, spoke loud and clear. He was a silent crier but his posture firmly screamed out worry, desperation and confusion. Juice didn’t handle loss of control well at all. He needed for someone to be there, someone who could pick up the pieces and remember how to put him back again. For now, the best thing to do, was to simply just hold him and let him cry.  
  
A few people passed their spot but no one stopped or spoke to them. Filip wasn’t sure if it was out of courtesy or because his grim look with the scars and MC cut served as a warning sign. Either was fine with him, the last thing his lil’ one needed right now was an audience.   
  
The minutes passed by and Juice seemed calmed by his presence. Filip took up a packet of tissues from his cut and handed him one.  
  
“Blow, lovey.”  
  
Juice obeyed and then gave a sigh.   
  
“I… I think I should sleep at my place tonight, Mr. Telford.”


	9. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should always listen to papi, when said papi is Ronea Telford-Tully.

The basket was pretty heavy and Ronea knew the women who were coming home from work with grocery bags and hungry kids were looking at him as he walked up to the apartment he’d actually never been inside. One of the women and her two kids were looking suspiciously at Ronea and he took his shades off, giving his most friendly smile.  
  
“I’m not the big bad wolf, ma’m, I promise. Just Mr. Ortiz’ dinner delivery.”  
  
She didn’t answer and the kids still stared at Ronea when Juice’s door opened and Filip’s scarred face showed. Ronea made a smirk at his husband.  
  
“I think we need to call in the makeovers, baby. We’re scary-looking.”  
“Huh?”  
  
Filip looked confused and Ronea just waved.  
  
“Nevermind. Are you gonna let me in?”  
  
His husband moved and Ronea was relieved when he closed the door behind him.   
  
Juice’s place was… dull. Ronea put the basket down and wiped his feet. It smelled like it hadn’t been aired out in a while and there was dust everywhere. Filip nodded in the direction of a half-closed bedroom door.  
  
“He’s been greetin’ a long time, but he refused to come home with me an’… well, I just dinnae think it was a good idea to insist when he was so upset.”  
“That’s why I brought dinner, baby. Has he puked anymore?”  
”No, thank God. Please, tell me ye dinnae bring any crisps or sweets.”  
“Of course not. There’s chicken sandwiches, warm onion soup, carrot and celery sticks with hummous, sugar-free jello fruit salad and coffee right here.”  
“God, ye’re my savior… Ye think Juice can eat something?”  
“I have another selection for him, if he’s able to stomach anything right now. Dig in, baby.”  
  
Ronea gave Filip a quick kiss and then went to the bedroom, knocking softly on the door.  
  
“Baby boy, it’s Papi. Can I come in?”  
  
Juice had called Filip _Mr. Telford_ , which hadn’t happened in a very long time and that rose concerns. Ronea wasn’t gonna pretend he knew about it, at least not bring it up right now. He opened the door and found his baby boy curled to a roll on the bed. Filip had covered him with a thin knitted blanket and the room just felt lonely.  
  
Ronea sat down on the bedside.  
  
“Heard you had a rough day, my little love. So did Papi.”  
  
Normally, talking about himself wasn’t the right thing to do in a situation like this, but Ronea had a feeling what this was all about and he stroke Juice’s hair.  
  
“Missed you an awful lot today, baby boy. Started crying, you know.”  
  
Juice looked up, eyelashes sticky from tears and Ronea stroke his cheek, smiling softly.  
  
“There you are, gorgeous.”  
  
It worked, at least a little, because his baby boy huffed and gave something close to half a smile. Ronea held his arms out.  
  
“Is there room for Papi on that tiny bed of yours?”  
  
Juice immediately moved and when Ronea had laid down, the boy snuggled in close. That was a good sign and Ronea nuzzled his hair.  
  
“You know what my mom used to say to me when she knew I was hurt but wouldn’t tell her about it? She’d say: ‘Ronea, son, no burden will ever be so heavy, you can’t ask the Lord to carry it for you.’ Now, you know I’m not really a religious man and I wouldn’t call myself naïve either, baby boy, but my dear old mother had a point even if you keep deities out of the equation. There’s no problem or wound you can’t talk to us about, my little love. We may only be humans, but me and Daddy are a couple of tough old bastards and we know a thing or two about chaotic minds.”  
  
Time. People never had time to listen, Ronea had realised over the years. Neither to themselves nor others. Things were left half- or unspoken, out of stress, fear or simply lack of understanding. Many people would just listen to _some_ of what their partners said, not taking time to be fully present in the moment and that’s what made Ronea’s husband so different. Filip, when realising things didn’t really feel good between them, would take time off, even if it was only an hour or two, just to make time for Ronea and their relationship. And now, of course, for Juice as well.  
  
“M’ reeking…”  
  
Yeah, well, Juice certainly had a point because the smell of vomits was still there, but it didn’t bother Ronea in the slightest. He pressed a kiss onto Juice’s temple.  
  
“A nice, hot bath will remedy that, in my experience.”  
“Have no tub, Mr. Telford-Tully.”  
“Sweetheart, is this your way of telling me you don’t _want_ to come home with us, or that you feel like you don’t _deserve_ it?”  
  
Ignoring the boy’s use of his surname wasn’t meant to ignore the problem or overrule him, but to reassure him that to Ronea, nothing major had changed since they parted this morning. He looked steadily at his young lover, taking his chin in his hand to lift him up to eye-contact level.  
  
“Juice, listen to me. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve scurried off to the hills from Daddy? Not because I didn’t want him or was afraid of him, but because it was just too much, too overwhelming and the only reaction I had to it, was to feel unworthy, ashamed and just completely fucked up by it all. I swear, baby boy, our petrol costs were cut by half when I finally stopped forcing your Daddy to drive around looking for me all over San Joaquin.”  
“Mr. Telford must’ve been angry.”  
“Yes, but not at me.”  
  
Ronea stroke Juice chin, almost touching the lower lip.  
  
“You think I’m gonna tell you that he came roaring on his bike, pissed as hell and barking at me, right? Ordering his disobediant man to sit up and then take him home for one hell of a spanking and a long lecture about how disappointed he was? Calling me disrespectful, childish, petulant and ungrateful? Not a chance, baby boy.”  
  
Juice started crying again but that was good. It was the kind of tears that told Ronea his baby boy had listened and was clear-minded enough to understand what his Papi tried to tell him. Ronea rocked him softly in his arms.  
  
“When he found me… I had a few spots he knew I used to take to when I got in the mindset of running away, he never came straight up to me, or yelled or anything. When he saw where I was and knew I saw him, he’d just wait.”  
“For what?”  
“For me to allow him near me. Once he was literally sitting in pouring rain for fortyfive minutes, because the spot I’d chosen didn’t have shelter for the rain far enough away from my comfort zone. He’d rather get soken wet than violate what he figured was my personal space. The weird man…”  
  
The fondness in Ronea’s voice didn’t escape his boy and the big, brown eyes looked slightly less fearful but still apprehensive.   
  
“Then what?”  
  
Ronea was pretty certain it wasn’t meant as rudeness. His boy was caught in between roles right now, where he still felt like the baby boy, but at the same time not. It wasn’t defiance, but a perfectly normal confusion, considering the circumstances. At least he’d dropped the surnames. Ronea stroke the dark hair and sighed.  
  
“Then, sweet darling, once he’d been sneezing from the cold for at least ten minutes, I finally remembered that I loved him more than I hated myself and let him take me home.”


	10. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bless the gentle soul of Moira Telford <3

_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay…_  
  
The music came from the kitchen and Juice hated it, because it made him feel even more melancholic. He was sitting in the tub, arms around his knees and chin resting onto them as Papi simultaneously washed and rubbed his shoulders with a lathered wash cloth. The meds were fully working now and made Juice’s body lax and heavy. His mind, how ever, wasn’t.  
  
“Mr. Telford-Tully?”  
“Yes, baby boy?”  
  
Papi still refused to change the way he addressed him, as if Juice was worthy of being _his_ again.  
  
_But since it fell into my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I’ll gently rise and softly call…  
  
_ No, the music definitely didn’t help and Juice took a deep breath.  
  
“Why does Mr. Telford always have to listen to this when… When…”  
“When he’s feeling emotional? Because that’s just who your Daddy is, baby boy.”  
“It’s… fucking depressing!”  
  
And hit right at his softest spot, in a moment when he tried to pull himself together. It spoke of departures, of death and sorrow and made it impossible to stay calm and composed. Papi kept rubbing his shoulders.  
  
“Daddy listens to this because it makes it easier for him to have a good cry when he needs to.”  
“He’s… crying?”  
  
The name didn’t slip his lips now, he was too surprised. Why would Daddy be crying? Papi sighed.  
  
“Yes, baby boy. He’s upset because you scared him when you didn’t come home. Please, try and not feel guilty about it, even if I know it’s almost impossible not to. He’s not angry or disappointed with you, my little love. He’s sad because one of the men he loves, hurt himself and thought he didn’t deserve Daddy’s love anymore.”  
“You shouldn’t love me, Mr. Telford-Tully.”  
”That so? And you think you could make me stop loving you by addressing me like a stranger instead of your partner? My sweet, messed up baby boy… How little you know of Papi’s stubbornness.”  
  
 _So fill to me the parting glass and drink a health whate’er befalls. Then gently rise and softly call good night and joy be to you all… Good night and joy be to you all…  
  
_ Daddy shouldn’t cry. Not because of Juice, not ever.  
  
“M-make him stop… Don’t want him to cry…”  
“Yeah, well, me neither, but if that’s what he needs to do, he’ll do it, baby boy. Trust me, it’s way better for him, and all of us, if he cries now instead of walking around like a grump all night. That night I told you about, when he waited for me to come to my senses while he got soaking wet, he cried too. Hugged me in bed like I was some kind of teddybear, using my hair as tissue, you know. Come, lets get you dry.”  
  
Papi helped him up and swirled a towel around him.  
  
“Moira Telford, bless her soul, knew how to raise a good son, despite a lousy husband who’d rather drink himself silly and beat his wife and kid black and blue, than living up to his vows. The only times I’ve ever seen your Daddy _violent_ , baby boy, have been when anyone’s threatened _me_ or his mother in any way.”  
“She’s… she’s dead?”  
  
Silly question, but Juice had never been very smart. Papi nodded.  
  
”Few years ago. Heart failure.”  
”I’m sorry.”  
”Thank you, love. We sang this one at her wake.”  
  
He nodded towards the door where the song was still playing. Did Daddy have it on repeat? It was still unnerving to hear it, but it felt wrong to protest now. Juice silently put the clothes on Papi was handing him. Shorts, a tanktop and baggy cargo pants. Knitted socks.   
  
He no longer smelled like vomits and wasn’t crying anymore. The dark blue hoodie was knitted too and Juice looked at it a moment, confused. He’d not seen it before and it felt soft and warm against his skin. Papi smiled.   
  
“Yes, I’ve made it. It’s not new, but it’s comfortable and I’m simply too fat to use it anymore.”  
“You’re not fat, Papi.”  
“Just middleaged and cuddly, right?”  
  
His lover smirked and Juice couldn’t help but smile too. Then he heard the song again, with the far too sad lyrics.   
  
_But since it fell into my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I’ll gently rise and softly call…_ _Good night and joy be to you all…_  
  
“Papi?”  
”Yes, my love?”  
”Please, make Daddy stop, or I’ll start sobbing again. I’m so sick of crying, you have no idea, Papi…”  
  
He didn't even noticed, how he’d started to call his lovers by their right names again. Naturally, as if he’d never stopped.


	11. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never mistake submission, wounds or setbacks for weakness...

Some things were more difficult with three, instead of two people in a relationship. Naturally, because sometimes Filip had enough problems just trying to make all parts of himself cooperate and adding his complex husband into the mixture had been a challenge from the very beginning. In a way, you could say Filip didn’t know how to do an _uncomplicated_ relationship, because he’d never had one. At least not on the longterm romantic department.  
  
The situation with Juice didn’t remind of the troubles with Ronea and why should they? His husband and lover were two different people and Filip obviously wasn’t the same at 49 as he’d been at 25. Aiding Ronea back then had not been easy, absolutely not, but Filip had dived into it with the determination, stubbornness and inexperience of youth. Defeat wasn’t an option and being madly in love stopped both hesitation and sometimes reason. He’d felt invincible and carried the weight of Ronea’s problems without asking himself if it was reasonable or even necessary. It was only when he had a longer moment to rest as Filip would feel the weariness.  
  
He wasn’t a saint, far from it. And definitely not a martyr, enjoying the feeling of being the one to pick up the pieces of others and save the day at the cost of his own happiness. No, Filip had seen enough of how a helpless case could grind you down and raise your hopes only to crush them again and again. His own father had done exactly that to his family, while Moira Telford for some reason never lost hope. That was the only thing Filip had a hard time forgiving his mother: her blind stubbornness when it came to save Patrick Telford ungrateful arse. And the only thing he’d learned from his old man, was how to not be a husband and father.  
  
Filip had never longed for children, not once, and it hadn’t changed even with all the possibilities coming with changed laws and society progress. It wasn’t that he disliked children, but he simply felt no urge to have any of his own. Meeting the kids of his fellow mates at the club was more than enough. Ronea, on the other hand, lacked the interest alltogether and often got clearly uncomfortable around kids, unsure of how to act with them since he frankly got bored after a minute or two in their company. That suited Filip just fine, because it would’ve been a fucking horrible situation had one of them wanted kids and the other not.  
  
Juice called them Papi and Daddy, yes, and sometimes actually had the needs of a child, but he was an adult in every way and had no wishes of being childlike. He craved to be cared for and protected, more than Ronea ever had, and in a very different way. Where Ronea was confident, Juice was insecure and where Ronea was defiant, Juice would cower.  
  
Filip had turned the music down a while ago and stopped crying, but he still needed some time on his own and Ronea knew that. The kitchen remained unentered for now and Filip was nursing a glass of scotch with his feet on the table – which he, if he was honest, never would’ve dared to do if he didn’t know for sure his husband wouldn’t come in. Maw probably looked down in disapproval too, if she didn’t have better things to do than looking at her son being sentimental. Which she probably had.  
  
She’d loved Ronea from the moment Filip had introduced his husband to her back in Glasgow. It was as if she’d gotten another son and da just had to abide with it. Things had changed in the Telford house since Filip moved out and the power balance was now another. He knew maw was telling the truth when she said Patrick hadn’t laid a hand on her for years. Why she didn’t leave the old bastard was a mystery, but Filip wouldn’t come telling her how to live her life when she accepted his choices.  
  
Ronea had been very shy and they were still newly wedded when they took the first trip to Glasgow together. He’d been so nervous, afraid of what Filip’s parents would think of him, but there’d been no need for worries. Patrick, of course, was his usual arseholic self, but visibly less of a fighter and with enough braincells left to realise he had nothing to put up against his son – or wife and son-in-law – anymore. Less than ten minutes after Ronea had stepped inside the old Telford house for the first time, he’d been talking recipes with Moira and made her smile and even laugh like Filip hadn’t seen in years.  
  
Later, maw had commented on how much more _Filip_ smiled and laughed and that’s when he’d realised that despite all the heavy things that came with loving a man with Ronea’s past, Filip had become far more easygoing, relaxed and just happier since they met. Maw seeing it was important too, because in a way it was a proof that her son wasn’t doomed to repeat his father’s mistakes and that Patrick Telford had ruined himself more than he’d ever fucked up his son.  
  
“Baby?”  
  
Ronea stood in the doorway, arms folded and head slightly tilted at the frame. Filip wiped his face in a reflex that wasn’t a try to conceal his tears, just his natural reaction to being suddenly caught in a private moment of crying.  
  
“Sorry, dinnae see ye…”  
“You okay?”  
”Aye. Got a wee bit… emotional.”  
  
His husband only nodded. The folded sleeves of his green and blue checkered shirt were slightly wet and his hair moist from the hot water.  
  
“He’s calling us Papi and Daddy again.”  
“Thank God.”  
”Yeah… He has a request though.”  
”What?”  
”To turn down The High Kings a bit. Apparantly you’re not the only one crying from them.”  
“Shite…”  
  
He’d completely forgotten how loud the music was and he went to the stereo, turning it down almost completely. Ronea smiled and walked over to swirl his arms around Filip’s in later years expanded waist.  Filip leaned back onto his shoulder.  
  
“How’s he?”  
“Clean, warm, dry and absolutely exhausted but not ready for bed anytime soon.”  
“If I could just figure out… Shite…”  
“What, baby?”  
  
Filip sighed.  
  
”Why he’s still so scared of me.”  
”Because he’s never learned how to respect anyone without being afraid. Especially not a man.”  
  
Ronea pressed a kiss on his neck.  
  
“I think we’ve underestimated just how scared Juice is. It’s like… I don’t know, but if we add together how scared you were of your dad, how scared I was of Aaron and double it up, then erase anything even remotely close to a family and real friends…”  
“Then we have one hell of a shite coctail.”  
“With years of abuse and the rape he wont talk about.”  
“God, I’d almost…”  
  
Not forgotten about it, but since they’d not talked about it for a long time and Juice hadn’t shown any signs of needing to, it had definitely taken a backseat in Filip’s mind. Ronea steadily turned him around and took his face between his hands, leaning their foreheads together.  
  
“Filip, listen to me before you start blaming yourself for things that weren’t your fault.”  
  
Filip immediately stopped whatever it was his guiltridden mind had set itself onto and looked at his husband’s steady, calm eyes.  
  
“First of all, you’ve _not_ been neglecting the rape, baby. I can tell that Juice hasn’t been ready to talk about it anymore and had he been, I would’ve told you.”  
“Ye cannae read his mind, lovey.”  
“No, and I’m well aware that rape victims don’t react the same way. We’re all different and while one way of dealing with it is right for me, it may not be right for him. I rarely ask for you to follow my lead, Filip, and for good reasons, but in this I ask you to trust my judgement over your worries.”  
  
He asked, he didn’t demand because that wasn’t Ronea’s way and Filip didn’t need demands to take his advise, especially not on this subject. Not for the first time, Filip silently contemplated over how increadibly strong his submissive husband was.


	12. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi's reactions keep surprising his baby boy... and Juice's bogeys get some tough resistance.

”I think Papi’s got a cling-on…”  
  
Juice didn’t answer, only pressed himself closer to his lover on the couch. He seemed much calmer now, almost like before he’d went off to work. He was grabbing Ronea’s cardigan though and the grip turned harder.  
  
“Did something bad today, Papi…”  
“Told you, baby boy, having a panic attack aint punishable.”  
”N-no, not that, Papi. Something else.”  
”Tell Papi then, sweetheart.”  
”Don’t know if I can… You’ll be disappointed in me, Papi.”  
  
Ronea highly doubted the bad thing was anywhere near as naughty as Juice’s angst ridden mind had him believe and he put his knitting down to stroke the boy’s hair.  
  
“Killed anybody, baby boy? Committed arson, cooked crystal meth, made a robbery? Bought a copy of Fifty Shades of Abuse?”  
”Papi, I’m serious.”  
”So am I, baby boy. There aren’t many things on my naughty list, or Daddy’s, that are even close to unforgivable, my little love. Just try me.”  
  
Juice was still tense and squeezed the piece of cardigan in his hand for a while. Then he swallowed.  
  
”C-came out, Papi.”  
”What came out, baby boy?”  
”I-I did… Didn’t mean to, it just… I didn’t tell them anything ’bout this, but…”  
”Hold on, sweetheart.”  
  
Juice looked so scared again and Ronea took his hand.  
  
“You mean you told some of your co-workers you’re gay?”  
“Yes…”  
  
It seemed as if he was about to cry so Ronea bent down to kiss his forhead.  
  
“Sweet darling, please don’t tell me you got a panic attack, went on a binge and believed we wanted you out of our lives because you finally stepped out of the closet?”  
  
Now the boy indeed started crying, bending into Ronea’s chest. This was a conversation Ronea prefered to have with his husband present as well, but Filip was fixing a broken turn signal on his bike out in the garage and interrupting the moment by going for him wasn’t a good idea. Ronea petted Juice for a while to let him cry a bit more. Then he started scratching Juice’s neck.  
  
“Juice, baby, did something happen when you told them? Did anyone say or do something mean or disrespectful?”  
“No, Papi.”  
“And you’re not suspecting any of them to be a secret gay basher or religious fundamentalist?”  
“No, they… They congratulated me, Papi.”  
“That’s wonderful, Juice!”  
”Yeah, I guess, but…”  
”But what?”  
”Didn’t ask for permission and… and now people know I’m in a relationship.”  
“Permission?”  
  
Ronea was honestly confused now and Juice got even more tense.  
  
”Didn’t ask Daddy if it was okay. Didn’t tell them about you, I swear, but people’s gonna ask more and I don’t know how to answer without…”  
“Without revealing that you’re in a polyamorous relationship with a married gay couple?”  
  
Juice rose from his shoulder and scooted back to the other side of the couch.  
  
“If you want me t-to move out, P-papi, I… I understand.”  
  
Stuttering, physical distancing, fists clenching and preparation for rejection. This had to stop right now. Ronea reached his arm out to take Juice’s chin and lift it.  
  
“Look at me, Juicy. Look at Papi, sweetheart.”  
  
Huge, redrimmed and utterly fearful eyes. Ronea almost wanted to cry himself.  
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong, baby boy, but did you simply went to work today, feeling good and relaxed as I saw this morning, and then went out of the closet, got a good reaction from your co-workers and later got a panic attack or something similar out of it?”  
  
Juice didn’t answer, just cried more which was answer enough and Ronea sighed.  
  
“Sweetheart, we’ve never had a rule on when, how or to whom you can come out. Jesus Christ, that’s none of our business, Juicy. You’re free to tell anyone you like that you’re gay and that you’re in a relationship. You can even say it’s a polyamorous one if you want to, the only thing we’ve not decided when or whom to tell, is who we’re in said relationship with. You didn’t tell any names, right?”  
“No.”  
”Then all you’ve done is standing up for yourself and made at least one of your co-workers really, really curious.”  
“Y-you’re not angry with me, Papi?”  
“Absolutely not! If anything, I’m angry with myself and Daddy, for not being more clear about this from the beginning. Oh, Juicy, I’m so, so sorry you went through this, baby boy.”  
  
Ronea now took the boy’s face between his hands and leaned their foreheads together.  
  
“You’ve been so brave, Juicy, and I couldn’t be more proud. I know your bogeys are trying to tell you different, but they’re liars and together we’ll shut them up, no matter how long it takes. What you did isn’t cause for punishment or rejection, baby boy, it’s cause for fucking celebration and if I didn’t know it would set your poor mind off on another panic attack out of shear surprise from too sharp a turn, I’d start baking a coming out cake right now.”  
  
He smiled and kissed Juice’s lips, stroking away the tears with his thumbs. Then, the boy gave a teary, incredulous and exhausted, but relieved laughter.


	13. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two coming out stories, sort of, or three depending on how you count and one of them far more painful than the others.

Daddy was smiling. No, _grinning._ The scars didn’t make it look strange at all, in fact, Juice couldn’t even imagine his lover without them but the smile made him blush and look away.  
  
“Daddy, please…”  
“Filip, stop teasing my baby boy.”  
  
Papi had noticed too, but Daddy just shook his head and leaned in to give his husband a kiss and then Juice. He’d missed the taste, but it certainly didn’t help the blushing and when they parted, he made a small huff.  
  
“Can’t be healthy with this many turns in one day, Daddy…”  
  
That made both his lovers laugh and himself blushing even worse. Daddy looked at him and then pulled him close in a bear hug.  
  
“Ye’re a truly amazing lad, Juice…”  
“Wasn’t that amazing, Daddy… S’not the 50’s.”  
  
Daddy sighed and it sent warm shivers down Juice’s neck.  
  
“God, how I wish ye’d stop diminish yerself an’ yer progresses all the time, lovey. Yer way o’ comparing everything with the worst case scenario simply isn’t reasonable or fair, lovey. I swear ye’d find a way to make yerself look insignificant if ye alone came up with the cure for cancer.”  
  
Papi smirked.  
  
“He’d say ‘thank the cancer that inspired me’.”  
  
Juice actually laughed a little at that, but he still couldn’t understand why they made such a big deal of this. Sure, _he_ had, but not because he was proud but because he’d been afraid of rejection and punishment due to it. And it wasn’t a spanking he’d feared. He sighed.  
  
”Guess I’m finally done with getting questions ’bout who _she_ is, at last. That’s… something. Elle’s still really curious though.”  
“That’s the friend you’re out shopping with, right?”  
“Co-worker, but I guess we’re kinda friends too.”  
“Kind of?”  
  
Daddy rose his eyebrows and Juice swallowed.  
  
“Not really that social, Daddy. I tend to… keep to myself.”  
“The garage though?”  
  
Juice hadn’t thought about it for a while. After all, he’d not been fit to, or even longed for, going to the bikers garage he shared with a few other MC guys. It wasn’t a club, they weren’t friends or collegues, just a bunch of guys in various ages that rented a spot together. Nothing like Daddy’s MC club.

“It’s not, you know, a _club_ , Daddy. Sometimes you’re all alone there and sometimes one or all the others are around too. We’re just renting it and help each other out whenever we’re around, but… we’re not really friends.”  
“Ye don’ miss it?”  
  
Juice shrugged.  
  
”Miss riding an’ working on my girl but the most I do with the guys is to share some coffee from a thermos and talk bikes. And girls.”  
  
He made a self-ironic little smile.  
  
”As a guy who’s not good on his own, I don’t seem to be in a lot of company. I mean, _normally._ So there’s really not a lot of people to even come out to.”  
“Coming out at work takes balls, baby boy.”  
  
Papi looked serious now and took his hand.  
  
“I worked as an usher and cleaner at a library when I met your Daddy and I didn’t come out until we got engaged. Of course, by that time my co-workers and my boss already knew, but they never brought it up and neither did I. Actually think it wasn’t mentioned until one of them, Rose, asked about the wedding.”  
“How did they react, Papi?”  
“At first they were a little, not surprised, but confused, I think. It wasn’t legal with gay marriage at the time, so I guess they firgured the whole engagement thing was pretty weird, but you know, they were all pretty nice and well-haved ladies and didn’t ask questions.”  
“Until _I_ showed up at work…”  
  
Daddy’s voice was a bit mirthful now and Papi shook his head, laughing.  
  
“Can you picture that, Juicy? A 28-year-old Scottish biker with long, brown hair, leather kutte and those big eyes strolling in… My co-workers probably had to change panties when they got home.”  
“Speak for yerself, lovey.”  
“I know a horny librarian when I see one, baby, and you were a wet dream in the flesh that day.”  
  
Papi looked quite pleased and Juice leaned into him again.  
  
“What happened then, Papi?”  
  
Now Papi sighed.  
  
“Then, people started to remember about Aids and pedophiles and my boss had to look for another usher. Didn’t matter much to me _personally_ , because I wanted to be a homemaker anyway, but it was a really shitty situation for lots of gay people back then. Still is, in some work places, even if it’s gotten better. And I had Daddy and our friends at the club to support me. It’s pretty effective to have a whole bunch of big, rough bikers to threaten homophobes with.”  
“I think it’s safe to say, we’d not gotten half as far without’em, lovey.”  
“True. No one fucks with the Teller-Morrow boys and their loved ones.”  
  
That sounded nice. The idea of something akin to a pack behind your back. He’d always wanted to belong, to have a real family… Juice’s mind wandered off to the time when he’d realised he was gay and how keeping that a secret had become just as vital as hiding bruises and keep smiling when you hurt inside out.  
  
Denial. That was a key aspect of his life, always had been and now it was long since engraved in who Juice Ortiz was as a person, he couldn’t imagine who he’d be without it. Or the shame. Papi and Daddy were the first people ever who’d not used his weaknesses or longings against him. It had been literally at least two whole months now since they’d fucked Juice and not once had they showed any irritation for his lack of ability and lust.  
  
Juice hadn’t come out, he’d been discovered and punished. A disgusting little fag who brought shame on the family he currently lived with.  
  
“My foster brother saw me and told’em. He was like… five, or something, so he didn’t mean to hurt me, but…”  
  
It was difficult to continue and Papi gently brought him back to rest onto his chest.  
  
“It’s okay, baby boy, take your time.”  
  
Juice’s mind was spinning now and instead of forcing the memories away, he tried to make the pictures clearer, forming them into something that wasn’t hidden anymore.  
  
“Was sixteen and… and the people I stayed with were already disappointed with me.”  
“Why, sweetheart?”  
“Wasn’t exactly an angel in my teens, Papi. Got mouthy, swearing and shit.”  
“Most teens do, baby boy.”  
“Yeah, well, my foster parents’ kids didn’t so I was a bad influence even if I’d been straight.”  
“What did they do when you were discovered?”  
  
Juice swallowed hard.  
  
“The… the dad, Orson, got fucking crazy. Dragged me into my room and screamed about how I was a sick pervert who molested his son and pretty much beat me to a pulp. Couldn’t leave the bed for two weeks so he wrote a sicknote to school, saying I’d got pneumonia. He actually cracked a rib.”  
“Jesus Christ, Juicy…”  
“Yeah… he claimed he liked Jesus a lot, but I don’t remember Jesus preaching about that. Anyway, I guess coming out hasn’t really been my priority since all that. Or anything to celebrate, so you have to excuse me for no being… all relaxed and proud about it.”  
“But _we_ sure are, lil’ one.”  
  
Daddy put his arms around Juice and Papi, leaning into them himself.  
  
“Yer foster da was nothing but a bloody scumbag who dinnae deserve to have kids in the first place an’ no matter how mouthy or disrespectful ye might have been back then, it still dinnae mean ye deserved being treated like shite. Ye were a kid, Juicy, a wee bastard jus’ like most lads are at tha’ age. Doesn’t mean adults have any right beating or shaming ye. If tha’ bastard was still alive…”  
“He could be, Daddy.”  
  
Juice sniffled a little. He was exhausted and curled into a ball between his lovers.  
  
“Was pretty young when he took me in, maybe in his thirties, or something. If he didn’t die from a heart attack. He fucking _never_ ate his greens…”


	14. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little trip down memory lane to the time when Filip's face got slashed and what he's learned from that experience.

He reckognized the pattern now and a part of him wondered how he hadn’t before. Maybe because he didn’t want to compare his lover to his husband too much. Maybe some of the memories were too painful, even now. Being the one in charge didn’t mean you couldn’t feel weak, low or even helpless at times. Filip had never had a difficult time dealing with his own personal shit, not even when he had his face gutted. After a short downward spiral of too much booze and way too much self-loathing, he’d realised he needed help and forced himself to seek it.  
  
Shane, his boyfriend at the time, had left by then and Filip, once the inner healing started to catch up with the external, hadn’t blamed him. He’d been impossible to be around, to help and he’d shiver inside from discomfort when realising how alike his da he was. It hadn’t changed until he’d once went in plastered to a follow-up at the hospital and one of the nurses he’d met a lot took him for an eye to eye conversation, giving him a pretty good scolding.  
  
Nurse Lorna was in her fifties with kids in Filip’s age and that showed. She’d lectured him about how he was letting the bastard who cut him ruin his liver as well as his life, that she’d seen enough people taking to the bottle in a crises and how it never ever helped with anything in the long run. When Filip, who’d been so taken aback by the scolding, had spilled the beans about his boyfriend, Lorna had been tough.  
  
_An’ how’s these months been for’im, lovey? Ye’ve let’im help ye or have ye pushed’im away?  
  
I… I couldna stand’ talking ‘bout it, sister.  
  
So ye took to the bevvy instead, aye? On top o’the painkillers? An’ let me guess? Ye’ve declined therapy as well?  
  
Aye…  
  
Ye’re, what… twentythree years ol’, laddie, an’ according to yer records ye have alcoholism running in the family. Ye’re telling me ye’ve went through all’em surgeries an’ months in tha’ bed jus’ to ruin yer liver an’ relationships while yer face is healing, aye? When was the last time ye saw yer maw, lovey?  
_  
That’s when he’d started weeping, like he hadn’t done since he was a wee lad, allowing the nurse to comfort him.  
  
_Ye go call yer maw when we’re done here, Filip, aye? I’m sure she’s worried about ye. An’ then ye ask yerself wha’ kind o’ life ye wannae have. If ye’re gonnae let the man who attcked ye turn ye into a bitter ol’ drunk, dying of cirrhosis at fortytwo, or if ye’re gonnae heal an’ live yer life no matter how yer face looks like. An’ let me tell ye, I’ve seen far worse. Ye’re a pure tidy lad an’ the scars are healing really well, haven’t ye noticed?_  
  
_Don’ look myself in the mirror anymore, sister._  
  
_Then it’s about time ye do. C’mere, lad._  
  
It was actually not a bad memory, because after literally facing himself in a mirror at the hospital, still bawling, things had started to improve. Not immediately, but the world seemed a little less like a pitch-black hole of misery when he’d left. The therapy group he eventually gave a try, turned out to be very helpful and about a year after the attack, he suddenly found himself taking a course in emergency medicine and doing voluntary work with, yes, patients who’d suffered trauma due to violent attacks.  
  
Filip had turned his weekest moment into strenght, not because he was an especially strong person at the time, but because he’d allowed himself to be weak in order to heal and had the fortune of having a really good nurse. Problem was, it was a very long time ago and the scars hadn’t bothered him for many years. The kind of trauma Ronea had dealt and sometimes still had to deal with, was way different and so was Juice’s. Filip had been attacked once by a high, paranoid stranger and while it had left him with vicious scars, it wasn’t an ongoing assault dragged out over years. Somehow, he’d learned to deal with that too.  
  
Among the worst things were the runaways. How Ronea, all mixed up with fear, self-hatred and anxiety would simply flee the apartment, sometimes without his outerwear, phone or wallet and scared out of his wits. With Filip left to search for him, trying to stay calm despite the constant fear of finding his boyfriend hurt, robbed or not at all. Dead.  
  
There was a pattern after all and it helped Filip to deal with it. To be steady in the midst of Ronea’s chaos was his job, no, his life task and now, being Juice’s port in storm was too. It came natural, once he knew what the problem was and as with Ronea, finding it out with Juice would take a lot of time and patience.  
  
The lad felt so small between Filip and his husband. Going back to work had been too soon, they should’ve taken it in smaller steps. Made a more detailed plan to have Juice feel safer – and Ronea too. Filip certainly didn’t think his husband was unable to keep himself occupied, but by being alone in the house again, without anyone to take his mind off things, it had been too big a change even for Ronea.  
  
Juice yawned and curled up closer, couldn’t seem to decide whom he wanted to be more snuggled up into so Filip moved into him as well, practically squeezing the lad but the pleased hum said it all. He needed to feel support, in every meaning of the word, and Filip would give it to him. He nuzzled the lad's ear, murmuring:  
  
“Daddy loves ye so much, Juicy. So much, lil’ one.”  
  
It wasn’t surprising when Juice responded with a small whine, trying to get even closer and Ronea, the provident man he was, had the box with Juice’s soother in his pocket. The lad hadn’t used it in a while, but eagerly accepted it now as it had been a very straining day and evening for him. His tummy was still unsteady due to the binging and purging and maybe he’d feel safer with a nappy in bed tonight.  
  
Not to make him feel like he was ill or weak again, Filip thought, but to reassure this strong, reckless man that behind these doors, he’d always be free to lay any burden down and get carried.


	15. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi's turn to remember - and sing. This is the song, btw: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ha-FS_CHmGw

“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”  
  
Reading aloud had actually been a thing in both Ronea’s and Filip’s childhood. At least to their mothers. Neither Patrick Telford nor Fred Tully were readers unless to check on sport stats and beer labels or, on occasion, the Bible. It was Elizabeth Tully and Moira Telford who took care of that, along with most things that had anything to do with family life. Ronea had only met his father-in-law on a few occasions, but the meetings were, at best, strained and uncomfortable and his own old man had taken his refuge so deep into religion that nothing short of a miracle – or Alzheimers – would make him accept his only son’s husband.  
  
Ronea and Filip were both, very much, their mother’s sons and Ronea knew in his heart that Elizabeth Tully would’ve loved Filip just as much as Moira Telford had loved her son-in-law. And just as she’d read the adventures of Bilbo and later Frodo to Ronea, as did he now to a man that definitely wasn’t his son in any way, but his badly hurt lover who unlike his Papi and Daddy, had never had a mother or anyone else to soothe and hold him when the world was an unsafe and unloving place.  
  
His boy was snuggled close to him in bed as Ronea told the story. The lamps in the big bedroom had a warm glow that along with the wallpaper in thin white and green stripes, gave the room an old-fashioned and very homey feeling. By the large window, there were white lace curtains and a dark green blind, as well as a small 3D nightlamp in the shape and color of a fullmoon. The only thing missing, Ronea thought, was a teddybear for his boy, but the pillow he squeezed was a good replacement – and less childlike. Not that he’d minded the least if Juice wanted a teddy, but a pillow was more neutral and it was important to neither stifle nor overly encourage their lover’s jumps between acting like a man and taking his refuge to a childlike state of mind.  
  
Juice had his pacifier now, sucking quite intensely on it and Ronea took that as a sign of the self-comforting his boy had turned to when he simply needed to do something, anything, to calm himself. It was a good thing that he’d not seemed the least embarressed or distressed with the diaper or the pacifier, but rather relieved by the familiar items connected to, not helplessness, but safety and permission to let go of control. The seven weeks in their home had taught Juice a lot about how helplessness could look like when handled with love and care. Things that, just as bedtime stories, had been close to non-existent in the poor man’s childhood.  
  
When they’d finished the first chapter, Juice looked really sleepy and Ronea put the book away, turned the reading lamp off and pulled the boy into his arms. Then he started humming.  
  
“When the cold of Winter comes, starless night will cover day. In the veiling of the sun, we will walk in bitter rain. But in dreams, I can hear your name. And in dreams, we will meet again… When the seas and mountains fall, and we come to end of days, in the dark I hear a call, calling me there I will go there… and back again…”  
  
Juice made small sigh.  
  
“Know that… song, Papi…”  
“Yes, it’s from the movie, baby boy.”  
“Like it… when you sing…”  
  
Ronea kissed his forehead and started over again. He was still humming when Filip entered. He looked almost as exhausted as Juice and Ronea gave him a soft smile while singing. Filip smiled too and disappeared into the bathroom while Juice seemed to drift closer and closer to actual sleep, a sight that honestly made Ronea’s heart ache a little.  
  
Where Elizabeth Tully and Moira Telford had tucked their sons to bed at night, sang to them, telling stories and saying evening prayers, Juice had been alone. On times when Filip’s old man had used his belt or hip flask on him during drunken nights, Moira Telford had tried to protect her son, given him comfort and love, the kisses and cuddles to soothe at least some of Patrick Telford’s damage. And as Fred Tully constanly blamed and shouted at Ronea for everything and nothing, Elizabeth Tully was there to defend her son.  
  
Why was it always the father presented as most important? Especially to boys. Ronea had never really grasped that, because everything he’d learned about being a man, was due to his mother and his husband. His father and that creep Aaron had taught him the opposite. How a person that could’ve been a man, a whole person, could get locked up in the most vicious mindsets and fucked up ideals. Boys don’t cry – and don’t giggle! They don’t smile softly unless they’re trying to get a girl on her back, unless it’s part of search for pussy.  
  
A real man doesn’t have long hair or make-up, he doesn’t take an interest in clothes and certainly doesn’t dress in lingerie, especially not if he’s not even a tranny. A man only goes to the kitchen to eat something a woman has already prepared, or to grab a beer and sandwich from the fridge. A man doesn’t whine or break down, doesn’t get a carte blanche from military service due to mental health problems and, above all, he doesn’t take it up the ass.  
  
They didn’t marry each other, become housewives and read aloud to scared and hurt lovers. Years of Filip’s love, his gentleness, patience and acceptance had slowly taught Ronea how to be a man worthy of the respect Fred Tully used to growl about. Ronea’s respect for his husband was absolute no matter how much he teased him. He knew exactly where the line was drawn, when he’d overstepped and the acceptable teasing was just as big a part of his love for the man as the obedience.  
  
Soft breathing onto his chest, told Ronea his young lover had drifted off to sleep. He looked so beautiful, his sweet boy, with the soft black hair all warm, the unique scent of Juice extra strong there and Ronea buried his nose in it, pulling the scent into his lungs as he waited for his husband to take the boy in his arms for a while. Right now, he shouldn’t be alone for a second.


	16. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: don't want to spoil anything, but make sure you're okay with ALL the tags.

“Shh, baby boy… It’s alright, my little love… It’s alright…”  
  
He’d woken up soaked and screaming. In his mind he was alone in the small room at Orson’s house, forgotten behind the locked closet door. Then, he was in the alley, unable to fend off the man who’d spiked his drink.  
  
People were laughing, pointing. He was suddenly sitting on his work station, naked save for a diaper and while his collegues and customers laughed at him, he could see Papi’s back on the bike Daddy was driving outside the window. Away from him, leaving him behind...  
  
“Juicyboy, ye’re having a nightmare, lovey. Look at Daddy, lil’ one… T’is just a dream, laddie!”  
  
His stomach flipped but only bile came up and the pain made him whimper. A warm hand was put on his aching belly, rubbing it soothingly.  
  
“We’re here with you, sweetheart. Papi’s here, Daddy’s here, you’re not alone, Juicy. Filip, please get the bucket, will you?”  
“Aye, darlin’.”  
  
It took time for the mist to clear and when Juice finally could look up and start to distinguish night terrors from reality, the smells had him gag again, even though there was nothing more to throw up. He’d never felt so disgusting and couldn’t stop the tears nor the pathetic way he tried to curl up.  
  
“Nonono, baby boy, don’t do that. You had a terrible nightmare, sweet baby, and it’s absolutely not your fault. Nothing to be ashamed of, Juicy, we’re taking care of you. Come to Papi, baby boy.”  
  
He was lifted and carried in all his filthy misery to the bathroom, gently put down in the empty tub and he shivered as the cold surface touched his sticky body.  
  
“I know, sweetheart, I know… Let me help you with the diaper and you’ll soon feel better, baby boy.”  
  
He still wouldn’t look as he was undressed and the warm water started rinsing over his clammy, dirty skin, but within seconds the smell and cold started to decrease and were replaced with green tea and mint fragrance from the lathered cloth Papi caressed him with. Yes, he could feel it was Papi now. Sweet, gentle Papi in his old tanktop and wornout pajama pants, hair ragged from sleep and the naked arms still covered with tattoos and old scars.  
  
Juice whimpered and grabbed Papi’s left arm, the one not busy washing him, and buried his eyes onto the inked flesh.  
  
“H-hurt you, Papi…”  
“Yes, baby boy, a man hurt Papi and Papi even hurt himself, but it was a long time ago and they can’t hurt me anymore.”  
“Had n-nightmares too, Papi?”  
“Like you wouldn’t believe, sweet baby. Sometimes… sometimes I was so scared I’d try and mix anything, literally _anything_ I could find just to make it go away. Pills, booze, acid, cough medicine, cutting myself…  And Daddy had to take me to the hospital, or go out looking for me because I was hiding. Trust me, baby boy, Papi _knows_ how it can feel when you’re so used to punishment, you’ve even become afraid of comfort and care. There, all clean now, baby boy.”  
  
Papi turned the water off and wrapped him in soft towels. Juice sniffled.  
  
“What’s wrong with me, Papi?”  
“What do you mean, sweetheart?”  
“This… the n-nightmares, the crying…”  
“I’m no doctor, Juice, but if I’d make a guess, I’d say it reminds a lot of PTSD.”  
  
Juice huffed.  
  
“Not exactly a w-war vet, Papi.”  
“A lot of things aside from wars can give PTSD, baby boy. Daddy suffered from it after his face got cut and I did when I finally got out of my relationship with Aaron. PTSD is different for everyone suffering from it, sweetheart, but flashbacks, vivid nightmares, avoidance of talking about the trauma and physical stress are all significant parts of it.”  
“I have those… parts?”  
“From a medically professional point of view, I can’t tell, because I’m not a doctor, but I’d sat you’re showing an awful lot of signs of it.”  
“S’only nightmares, Papi. Everyone has nightmares sometimes, right?”  
  
His lover looked softly at him, with the smile Juice had learned to reckognize as his sad one.  
  
“I know it’s very hard, Juice, I really do, and I can’t decide for you how to handle it, but from a personal experience, I have to say that even though it can feel absolutely horrifying to talk about it and sometimes even feel worse for a while afterwards, like reliving it all over again, the best weapon against it, is to open up.”  
  
Papi’s eyes were also sad now and he looked pained.  
  
“I’ve been raped, Juicy. Raped and beaten, neglected to the point where I almost died from it. And although it’s close to twentyfive years ago, you’ve witnessed yourself how it can still get to me, even if the person who hurt me is long since dead.”  
  
Juice was still, just listening as Papi kept washing him with the cloth.  
  
“I lost all sence of self-respect, care and pride for myself when I was with Aaron. Not all at once, but little by little, you know like a frog who’s in slowly heating water and doesn’t jump out in time because it’s not realising when it turns dangerous. For me it started with comments on my looks, then my voice, my way of eating and talking. Whom I hung out with, which clothes I chose to wear and the sex became more rough, less gentle until one day, Aaron hit me with the back of his hand at dinner because I, according to him, talked too much.”  
“That’s awful, Papi.”  
“Yes, and do you know why I didn’t walk away that first time?”  
“No, Papi.”  
“Because I was already so grinded down by then, I truly believed I deserved it.”  
  
Papi’s hair was moist from the heat and he stroke it back.  
  
“The last thing he did to me was to stab my cat to death with a scissor and cut my hair off before beating the shit out of me. I’d left him by then and met Daddy, so he wanted to hurt and humiliate me as much as possible.”  
“M-my f-foster dad, he… He did that too.”  
“Cut your hair?”  
“Sh-shaved it. He laughed at me w-when I cried.”  
“Oh, baby boy, I’m so sorry… How old were you?”  
“Fifteen. L-locked me inside the… the c-closet… ‘cause I wouldn’t s-stop crying…”  
  
He swallowed.  
  
“S’why I got the tattoos, Papi. On my head. Least they weren’t as easy to… take away.”


	17. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's good to be the one in charge...

How was it possible that all that had happened yesterday even fitted in a single day? Filip felt like he’d aged ten years since he’d went looking for Juice and he dialed Tig’s number and a grumpy voice muttered:  
  
“Chibs? Where’s the fire?”  
  
Filip smirked to himself. The lads at the club, which also happened to be a part of his work, had called him Chibs, Scottish slang for knife, from the beginning and for some reason he was fine with that, but grateful no one else and especially not Ronea, did.   
  
“Woke ye up, Tig?”  
“Nah, missus did. What’s up?”  
“Was wondering if you’d do without me today.”  
“Ronea’s okay?”  
“Aye, he’s fine. It’s just… uhm…”  
“Ah, your lover.”  
  
It was a secret, which meant Tig knew about it. No details, of course, but Tig was no idiot and neither was his old lady, Venus. Filip scratched his beard.  
  
“Aye, we have a bit o’ a situation here. I’m needed at home.”  
“Except in the kitchen, right?”  
  
Filip snickered at that.  
  
“Aye. Have no plans on getting myself taken out by a fryin’ pan. Ye call me if there’s any problems.”  
“I can deal with the idiots, Chibs. You take care of your twink.”  
“My _what_? He’s… bloody _thirty_!”  
“Whatever. You’re ancient.”  
“I’m 49 and ye’re a bastard, Tig.”  
“But I did get you to tell me his age. Venu’s gonna be thrilled.”  
“Arsehole. Thanks, by the way.”  
“Anytime, brother. Say hello to Ronea from me.”  
  
When he hung up, Filip had a brief moment of regret, because a part of him honestly needed to dive down into the engines today. Dealing with problems that were easy to fix, at least compared to the complexity of a wounded heart and mind. Also, it would probably be frustrating for Ronea to have him around all day, but this was kind of decision Filip didn’t need to consult his husband about. _He_ made the final decisions in this family, after all, which sometimes meant Ronea would be displeased with them, as would Filip.  
  
He put his phone away and went back into the bedroom where Ronea was just leaving the bed. He looked really tired and Filip walked up to hug him.   
  
“Morning, sunshine…”  
“Morning… Where were you?”  
“Called Tig. I’m staying home today, baby.”  
“You don’t need to.”  
“It’s not a suggestion, Ronea.”  
“Oh… Okay.”  
  
Filip loosened his arms a little to look at him.  
  
“Ye’re not gonnae ask why?”  
  
Ronea made a small, huffing laughter and shook his head.  
  
“It’s pretty obvious and I have to admit, I’m kinda relieved.”  
  
Filip pulled him close again. He loved the warmth and scent of a newly awake Ronea.  
  
“After breakfast, I want you to take a nap.”  
“Well… if it’s an order…”  
  
His husband had a hard time indulging himself sometimes and this was his way of asking for Filip to step in and actually make it an order, so he wouldn’t have to deal with a bad conscience he shouldn’t have in the first place. Filip kissed his hair.  
  
“It is. We’ll look over yer plans for the day together, aye?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Not trying to overrule ye, lovey, just… “  
“I know, Filip. This isn’t really our normal situation, so… We’re no good to Juice if we’re exhausted anyway.”  
“Is he awake?”  
“Sleeping like a rock, last time I looked. Poor baby… I don’t want to wake him up yet.”  
“Then perhaps we could have breakfast, jus’ ye an’ me, an’ let’im sleep a little longer? Not really had date nights for some time, lovey.”  
  
Ronea chuckled.  
  
“Brekkie date, huh? Been a while…”  
“So how ‘bout yer favourite latte an’ scones from the bakery?”  
“That sounds a little too tempting, baby.”  
“Then it’s settled. Ye take a long, hot shower, lovey, an’ I’ll be back in twenty, tops.”


	18. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet memory and a little brekkie date for the Telford-Tully couple <3

During their engagement, while they were still often short on money and movies or dinners out were digging holes in their budget, Filip had started to take him out for breakfast a couple of times a month at a local café.The toast was often soggy and the coffee too weak, but it was a really sweet gesture and Ronea had come to love it. Cheap and unromantic, with truckers and bikers as it’s primar guests and a furnishing from the least stylish part of the 70’s, but the fat, ragged owner kept it spotless and treated every guest alike.  
  
It was in that café, Ronea and his husband had really come to know each other as something more than the helper and the one in need of help. The first time had been after a particularly rough night with just too much anxiety and nightmares for any of them to deal with over their usual toast and cereals at home and so Filip had taken a sleep crumbled Ronea on his bike and rode to the café. It had smelled like gasoline and coffee and Ronea had felt uncomfortable at first, when seeing the big, burly man with arms like a normal dude’s thighs and a big beard.  
  
They’d made their order and, of course, Filip pulled Ronea’s chair out. People had looked funny at them for a while, but the first time someone actually bothered them by calling them fucking fags, the owner got pissed off and roared over the whole diner that in his place, you either minded your own business or left on spot. Harassement would not be tolerated towards paying customers who didn’t bother anyone. No one had uttered a peep after that and the greasy fry-up suddenly tasted like a gourmet meal. When they’d been ready to leave, the owner didn’t accept Filip’s money, insisted it was on the house and so Ronea’s then fiancé had put the money in the tip box by the cashier instead.  
  
They’d been young and at a time where acceptance was on the rise, but definitely not something to count on. Reggie, the café owner, didn’t look like a liberal person, but he’d turned out to be one of the few people Ronea secretly labled _genuinly decent guys._ He rode a bike but wouldn’t call himself a biker, since he was just as into cars, and as a sign of appreciation, Filip had given him the Teller-Morrow card, telling him to just give a call if he ever had a problem with either the bike or the truck. Four years ago, Reggie sadly passed away from a stroke, and the new owner had been a guy determined to give the place a makeover, turning it into a God awful Starbucks. Blasfemy.  
  
Since getting married, money situation had still been both up and down, but for the last fifteen years, it had become steady and these days Ronea’s husband could take him out for even truly fancy places, but the truth was, they both liked simplicity.  
  
Now they were sitting at the table at home, only Ronea had his feet on Filip’s thighs and sipped happily on his soy latte with hazelnut syrup and extra foam. He had a towel swirled around his still wet hair and was dressed in old slacks and a knitted cardigan over his white tanktop. A quick look at his bare feet on Filip’s lap, told Ronea he’d not had a proper pedicure in a while. Or manicure or haircut for that matter. Filip spotted his eying.  
  
“Time to give Venus a call, aye?”  
  
Ronea gave a tired chuckle.   
  
“I swear, you have x-ray eyes sometimes.”  
“Just know yer routines, darlin’.”  
“Only so you can fuck with them.”  
  
He smirked, just teasing his husband and the man knew that. Ronea truly appreciated this and took another sip of the coffee drink.  
  
“This was really nice, by the way. Needed this... Not just a morning off but…”  
“Some time with us?”  
“Yeah.”  
  
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, slowly eating their scones and suddenly, a thought that had sort of floated in the back of Ronea’s mind but never really taken form, showed up.   
  
“Babe...”  
“Aye?”  
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but has Juice ever said he actually _likes_ his job?”  
  
A small frown showed on Filip’s face and after a moment, he shook his head.  
  
“No, now tha’ ye’re mentioning it, I don’ think so. He’s good at it, but tha’s not the same thing, really.”  
“It’s not. I’d probably be a good chef, but I’d hate every second of it.”  
“Aye…”  
  
Filip nodded slowly and Ronea put his cup down.  
  
“After last night… Didn’t get much sleep even after Juice went out, to be honest. I just… kept thinking.”  
“Bout what?”  
“Everything. Nothing. Us and him.”  
“Ye’re feeling helpless?”  
“Strangely, no. It’s just… I think I’m maybe so used with you and how you made me _want_ to open up, I’ve kinda forgotten how long it actually took. It’s like… I keep comparing myself to Juice, when I know I shouldn’t, and at the same time I don’t make the connections that are really there.”  
“An’ when ye opened up to me, I’d already seen ye at a really low point. I knew, at least to some extent, wha’ I was getting into.”  
“Hardly believe Juice had any intention of lying to us.”  
“Of course not, tha’s not wha’ I’m saying. But when I met ye, ye were already so down, ye dinnae even care to lie properly to me. Of all the abuse victims I’ve treated, ye were the only one who dinnae _try_ an’ come up with a good lie. Ye’ve never been good at lying to me, ‘cause ye’ve never really wanted to.”  
  
Ronea smiled.  
  
“Are you saying I’m no longer good at lying?”  
“No, ye’re awesome with tha’ when ye need to, but we’re so used to not needing it, I think we’ve just gotten really bad at knowing when Juice does it. Or maybe concealing or hiding is a better word for it.”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Ronea bit his lip.  
  
“That’s where I was getting. With Juice’s work. I know that he’s a pro with computors and I do believe he likes figuring out problems and solving them. I think he needs people around him both at home and at work, but that he’d be completely overwhelmed and stressed out with an actual social job.”  
  
Filip just nodded again, not saying anything because he knew Ronea had more to say and he wanted to listen.  
  
“I think that, maybe, Juice shouldn’t be in an office space at all.”  
“How do ye mean?”  
“I know he’s really good with computors and all, and I hate that I sound like some douchebag claiming to know what someone else should do with his life, but have you ever heard him speak of _anything_ in his life, apart from his bike or us, like he’s actually enjoying it? He keeps pretty much to himself, the few friends he has are more of accquaintances and he’s so starved of affection yet scared from his wits from it like, I don’t know…”  
“Like a constant shock on his system?”  
“Yeah, exactly.”  
  
Ronea looked almost relieved now, as he’d apparantly been prepared for a longer explanation. He bit his lip.  
  
“It’s silly and probably unhealthy as well, but I just wish he’d made a promise more like mine. I mean, I realise it’s not realistic and just my way of wishful thinking…”  
“That it would be so much easier to give him what he needs, if he gave up on doing wha’ he thinks he wants?”  
  
Now Ronea laughed a little, blushing.  
  
“Lord almighty, look at me… I’m officially a desperate homemaker with control issues.”  
  
Filip smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Then, Ronea went serious again.  
  
“He’s just so… fucking _hurt_ , Filip. He doesn’t need lovers, he needs a mother, a father, a husband, a caretaker…”  
“A family. Ye’re saying we cannae give’im tha’?”  
“I want to, Filip. Good God, I want to give him all he needs and more. I know I can take sleepless nights and tears and all for as long as it takes, but this chaos just isn’t working.”  
“How do ye mean, lovey?”  
“Juice makes most of his decisions out of fear and I think we’ve underestimated just how unused he is to think of himself and what he does in terms of something he _likes_. Just think about the room. He’s still not decided on color, because somehow it’s just too foreign to him, choosing something soley for himself like that. Guess his bike and computor are exceptions, but think of it, Filip.”  
“Aye… He… He things we’ll stop loving’im if we get to know him properly. Jesus Christ, tha’s some nasty shite mindfucking he’s been through…”  
“And are you ready to deal with it a second time, baby?”  
  
Filip sighed, rubbing his face.   
  
“God, I love tha’ lad. I know we both do an’ tha’ despite all he’s going through, he loves us jus’ the same. All this has gone so damn fast, in a way, but I cannae say it feels wrong. It’s hard an’ exhausting an’ fucks royally with my head at times, but if I have to choose between tha’ an’ not having him, I’d choose him an’ all tha’ comes with him, as long as it doesn’t compromise my feelings for ye.”  
“Which it doesn’t. Believe me, if I’d thought that, I would’ve told you.”  
“I know, lovey.”  
“So, if you think only like the dominant, caring man I married, without taking Juice’s bad conscience, sense of guilt and general self-hatred into consideration, how would you _like_ to handle this?”  
“Well, for a start, I’d like to know how the bloody hell both of us dinnae see his head tats.”  
“Uhm, because he’s got really thick, black hair and we both have reading glasses already?”  
“Ye mean we’re getting old an’ blind.”  
“If that description makes you feel better, baby, then yes. Another scone, old man?”


	19. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little chat with Daddy before breakfast.

“Juicy? Wake up, lil’ one… It’s morning, lovey.”  
  
He smiled, reckognizing the low, husky voice even in sleep now. But the bed was warm and soft, the pillow so comfortable and the one he was squeezing in his arms too. He yawned and snuggled into it.  
  
“Jus’ a little more, Daddy… So warm and… nice here…”  
“Ye’ve slept well then?”  
“Uh-huh… Where’s… Papi?”  
“He’s napping on the couch, lovey.”  
“You… forced him to, Daddy?”  
  
Daddy chuckled.  
  
“Ye know yer Papi well, kiddo. It’s high time for brekkie.”  
“But it’s _cold_ , Daddy…”  
“An’ I know a bottom tha’ll get _really_ warm soon if ye don’ start listening to Daddy.”  
  
Juice couldn’t stop a yawn and he stretched out.  
  
“Sorry, Daddy. Dinnae yawn… at you. Jus’… tired today.”  
“I know, lovey, but ye can take a nap later. Come now, darlin’, it’s alright, I’m not angry with ye at all, but we really need to get tha’ nappy off.”  
  
Daddy took his hands and Juice rose, only a little unsteady on his feet and he blinked his eyes a few times.  
  
“Did something happen last night, Daddy?”  
“Ye don’ remember?”  
“Not really… But I feel… kinda rocky:reeling, you know…”  
“Ye’ve had some panic attacks, lovey, an’ they were pretty rough. We’ll talk about them later, when ye’re dressed and had something to eat. Alright, Juicy?”  
“Alright, Daddy.”  
“Atta boy.”  
“Think I might have a see-saw kinda day, though.”  
  
Daddy gave his warm, kind laughter and pulled Juice into his arms, hugging him firmly.  
  
“Oh, laddie… Wha’ in the world would we do without ye, my sweet, precious lil’ treasure?”  
“Have more sparetime, Daddy?”  
“I believe ye’ve said tha’ before, lovey, an’ I also recall ye saying it when ye needed to get changed instead o’talking nonsense ‘bout yerself. Be a good boy now an’ do as Daddy says, aye?”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
  
With only a little support, Juice managed to walk to the bathroom and lay down on the changing pad. He’d been so numb from sleep, he’d not realised how full his diaper was and he blushed as Daddy removed it and lit the small vial of fragrance oil on the shelf.   
  
“God, I didn’t even notice, Daddy…”  
“Ye’ve slept really heavy, darlin’.”  
“Thought I didn’t need’em anymore.”  
“The nappies? Lovey, don’ ye worry ‘bout it. Healing is never a one-way road without bumps and red signals. Jus’ look at yer Papi.”  
“He didn’t shit himself in sleep, though, Daddy.”  
“Dinnae know ye were spying on us as a 5-year-old. But I guess tha’ explains why ye never saw everything, since wee bairns aren’t really known for their mind-reading skills or attention spans. Ye know how watery diarrhea from a really bad trip on moonshine an’ McDo fries an’ milkshake smells like?”  
“Uhm… no, Daddy.”  
“Then ye have something to seriously thank God for, lad. When our bodies wont allow us to control them, due to illness or injuries, we shouldna feel ashamed, Juice. Ye did so well in allowing yerself to loose control in these two months, lovey, an’ wha’ happened wasn’t tha’ ye lost control for good, was it?”  
“No, Daddy.”  
  
He tried to relax and let Daddy wash him with the wipes. Once the dirty diaper was gone and there was no smell, it honestly felt good being touched between his legs again. It was a long time since he’d felt lust for real, only small pangs of it that mostly weren’t enough to be worth the effort of dealing with, usually during a spanking. Daddy had explained that it was most likely more of a physical rather than psychologically horny reaction and that made sense.   
  
The skin on Juice’s buttocks was undoubtably more light brown than pink now and he missed the feeling of the lingering burn from a cleansing spanking. There was nothing comparing to that, the absolute vulnerability over another man’s lap. To feel so weak yet so safe, naked and humiliated with nowhere to hide and still just want to turn over completely. Being fucked by Daddy or Papi was to be claimed in pleasure and Juice missed it terribly, but to lay bare and obedient over Daddy’s lap, giving in to the stinging pain and the emotions it brought with it, not even knowing but simply _feeling_ how any sin, naughtiness, mistake, tension and worry couldn’t hurt him anymore.  
  
“I can almost see steam comin’ outta yer ears from all tha’ thinking, laddie. Wha’s on yer mind, Juicy?”  
“Uhm… W-will you spank me today, Daddy?”  
“Do I have a reason ye’ve not told me?”  
“Well… not yet, Daddy.”  
  
Daddy chuckled and finished drying him.  
  
“Don’ tell me ye’re planning on being naughty on purpose jus’ to earn yerself a spanking, laddie?”  
  
Juice shrugged, biting his lip and Daddy rose his eyebrows.  
  
“Is there something ye’re trying to tell me, only ye don’ know how to, lovey? Because I’d very much prefer, as would yer Papi an’ ye too, even if ye might not think so right now, if ye could try an’ tell Daddy wha’ ye need, instead o’ coaxing me into giving it to ye for the wrong reason. There are different kinds o’ spankings in this house, as ye know.”  
“I… I know, Daddy.”  
“When I first started spanking yer Papi, it had nothing to do with reprimands, ye know.”  
“No?”  
  
Daddy shook his head.  
  
“He begged me to do it for weeks before I agreed to give it a try. I was so afraid, lovey, tha’ I’d repeat or continue something tha’ could trigger a bad memory or put’im in a headspace where he’d start believing he deserved abuse again.”  
“But that didn’t happen, right, Daddy?”  
“No, but if I’d given in to it too early, or for the wrong reason, it would’ve harmed him an’ me too. If I’m not in control o’ my emotions an’ has a clear head, I could end up hurting us both, lovey. T’is, in a way, like sex or even how I make the final decisions. If I let the power an’ control Papi, or ye, have freely given me in order to feel good, become more about my need for control than yer need for love an’ protection, it’d be abuse. I’ve given both o’ ye spankings an’ scoldings when I later realised ye dinnae deserve or benefitted from it an’ I can assure ye, it’s one o’ the worst feelings I know of.”  
“So, if I did something naughty now, and you knew I did it jus’ to make you spank me…?”  
“Then I’d refuse to do it an’, since ye know how I feel about it now after I’ve told ye, also feel really sad an’ betrayed.”  
“Don’t want that, Daddy! Never!”  
  
Juice’s lip was actually trembling now because he craved the spanking just as much, but the idea of hurting Daddy was unbearable. The man bent down to pull him up in a hug.  
  
“Shh, lil’ one, ye’ve not done tha’ an’ Daddy’s not sad or angry with ye, lil’ one. We’re only talking ‘bout how we’re feeling, lovey, which is really important an’ not wrong or dangerous, ye know. C’mon, look at Daddy, sweetheart.”  
  
Daddy didn’t look disappointed or hurt or even angry at all, just so very calm and safe and he smiled softly.  
  
“Good boy, Juicy. I know this is hard for ye, which is why it’s so important not to rush anything based on either our feelings nor our beliefs, aye.”  
“O-okay, Daddy. I-I understand… I think.”  
“Good. Now, about spankings. I _do_ believe tha’ an emotional relief spanking could do ye good now, but, an’ this is important, I’m not yet sure. What I am sure of, is tha’ I wont be coaxed into doing it, Juicy. Ye understand me?”  
“Yes, Daddy. I wont… try an’ make you do something you don’t want to do.”  
“Thank ye, lovey, I’m glad ye’re more clear-headed than ye realise yerself. C’mon, it’s time for breakfast.”


	20. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cardamom buns to cinnamon rolls <3

Cardamom, vanilla, flower… The kitchen smelled like a bakery and Ronea was measuring up a very careful teaspoon of cinnamon, adding it to the filling in the mixer. Filip glanced at it while waiting for Juice to come down.  
  
“Dinnae know ye had yer baking day, lovey.”  
“I don’t.”  
“Then… wha’s the occasion?”  
“Since when do I need a reason to make my cardamom-vanilla rolls, baby?”  
“Uhm… Ye don’t, but…”  
  
Ronea looked up from his kitchen scale with butter.  
  
“It’s for Juice. And us too, of course. I just think that he needs something… that smells and feels nice, even if he might not be able to eat them yet.”  
“Elizabeth’s recipe, right?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“I take it then ye’re done napping.”  
“Oh, I… “  
  
Ronea looked like he’d completely and honestly forgotten about it and just stopped what he was doing, the slightly rosy cheeks turning a little pale now and in that moment Filip just fell for his nerdy husband all over again. He chuckled.  
  
“Lovey, I can tell ye dinnae try an’ disobey me, but please, don’t overwork yerself, alright?”  
“I wont. Sorry, baby.”  
“Hey, don’ beat yerself up about it, Ronea. As long as ye’re happy doing it, I am.”  
“Was thinking… maybe Juice would like to sprinkle the nibbed sugar on top of them…”  
  
The barely noticable hint of need, not for being allowed to bake, absolutely not, but for reassurance that maybe this could be something that would make their hurt lover feel a little better today. Something sweet and homey to comfort a wounded heart, still raw and sore from opening up at night.  
  
Their boy probably never sprinkled nibbed sugar on cinnamon rolls as a kid and now he was showing in the doorway, looking rather worn down but not tense. Just tired from a long night of interrupted sleep, nightmares, baths and talking. But he hadn’t asked for a nappy or his pacifier and that was a good sign. Ronea smiled and abandoned his dough to hug him.  
  
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Thought you were gonna sleep til’ lunch, sweetheart. You’re hungry for some breakfast?”  
“Thought I missed it, Papi. Overslept.”  
“There’s no such thing as missing meals in this house, baby boy. Sit down and I’ll warm you a nice scone with butter and jam.”  
  
Juice sniffed the air, looking simply adorable doing it.  
  
“You’re baking, Papi.”  
“I most certainly am, baby boy. My dear ol’ mother’s cardamom-vanilla rolls.”  
“Also called waistline traps, darlin’.”  
  
Ronea glared at his husband.  
  
“Only if you slow down on the long walks and crunches, baby. Stop trying to scare our baby boy off my culinary creations.”  
  
The baby boy in question smiled and padded closer into his Papi’s arms.  
  
“Smells really nice, Papi.”  
  
It was a heart-warming sight. Filip’s husband so rarely felt comfortable with company aside from Filip in his kitchen. The room was sort of his safe space and Juice had come to belong to the kind of company not only allowed but truly welcome in it. They made such a sweet couple, both of them with tattoos and dark hair, Juice very casually dressed in grey combats and a black tanktop and Ronea still in the blue, knitted cardigan and hair pulled back in a ponytail. He planted a kiss on Juice’s head.  
  
“How are you feeling today, Juicy?”  
“Like I’ve been through some kinda mangle, Papi.”  
“Mentally, I think you have, baby boy. Wanna sit with Papi at breakfast?”  
“Yes, please. I mean… if you’re not busy.”  
“Sweet boy, I wouldn’t ask you if I was too busy. Come on.”  
  
With his natural, gentle manipulations, Filip’s husband coaxed Juice to sit on his lap and take small bites of the warm scone.   
  
“Papi?”  
“Yes, love?”  
“What about your baking?”  
“Oh, the yeast has to work it’s magic for about forty minutes before I can join in. You like cardamom-vanilla rolls?”  
“I… I guess so, Papi.”  
  
The lad looked insecure, biting his lip.  
  
“Only had the kind with cinnamon, like, from coffee shops.”  
  
Ronea shivered in disgust.  
  
“Nasty mutations with too much cinnamon and not enough butter. An insult to real buns, practically heresy.”  
“Here we go again…”  
  
Filip rolled his eyes fondly, actually eliciting a smile from Juice. The next second though, tears were falling from the lad’s face but neither Filip nor his husband startled or got upset by now. Ronea just took his cardigan off and draped it around the shivering body, kissing Juice’s crown gently and stroke his back.  
  
Their lil’ one’s memories of something even close to a real, welcoming home, were fragmentatial at best and he’d never been a natural part of it. No one had given this sweet, compassionate and intelligent man a proper chance to open up and it hit Filip that all the love they got from Juice now, to some extent was one that should’ve been shared with more people over thirty years. The overwhelming shock this truly was to a heart as frightened and suppressed Juice, had only recently started to take small, tentative steps into the light.


	21. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When sweetness may not trigger a binge, but a bad memory...

The kitchen smelled sweet and nice and Juice, who’d not cried for long, was brushing stirred egg on buns on one of the baking trays. Filip was out in the garage making some phone calls to his employees to get a heads-up on work and at the moment, Ronea was glad for that. Juice was so terribly self-conscious and treated the task of brushing with a gravity not even Elizabeth Tully’s rolls deserved. As soon as Juice looked up from the tray, Ronea smiled at him.  
  
“That’ll be perfect, baby boy. Here, take some nibbed sugar and sprinkle on them.”  
“How much, Papi?”  
“A pinch or two, there’s no specific measure.”  
  
A small hesitation, then Juice went onto it, with the same sincere expression on his features. He seemed completely focused on the task, but the movements were a little too tense and Ronea sat down beside him.  
  
“Sweetheart, relax. This isn’t an examination, just pastries.”  
  
The boy made a small nod.  
  
“Never done this before, Papi.”  
“You didn’t have home economics in school?”  
“No.”  
  
The first tray was ready and Ronea put it in the oven and placed the second one in front of Juice, who started brushing.  
  
“One of my foster moms made cup-cakes. With tons of frosting and sprinkles, you know. They looked more like some kinda art project than cakes.”  
“More frosting than actual cake, huh?”  
“Yeah… Looked delicious, though.”  
“You didn’t taste them?”  
“Sugar made me hyper-active, so it was better I didn’t have any. Not good to spoil the dinner, right?”  
“That’s true, baby boy, but why not have one after dinner? Sugar, by the way, doesn’t make you hyper-active, that’s just a myth. It’s simply that when you have, lets say, a birthday party for kids, they tend to get very excited and when adults around them expect them to be hyper-active, they often misinterpret normal behavior as excitement for hyper-activity, and since sugar isn’t good for us in too large amounts, it was easy to blame the sweetness.”  
“Huh… Didn’t know that was debunked, Papi. Makes sence, though. Can’t remember running around from sugar.”  
  
Ronea bit his lip.  
  
“How often were you left to watch others eat something nice without having any of it yourself?”  
  
Juice kept his eyes on the tray, brushing the buns thoroughly. He was silent for a little while.  
  
“Couldn’t handle sweet food… Better I didn’t have it… Besides, it’s… not good for us…”  
  
His voice was very small now but Ronea heard him. It didn’t seem as if it was Juice’s words, but rather a repetition of what others had said to a much younger Juice. Not good for us, obviously didn’t mean us as in the other members of whatever family this memory was connected to, only for those who shared their roof but not their name.  
  
Ronea wasn’t sure that his baby boy was able to handle another deep conversation about painful childhood memories right now, so he decided to step in.  
  
“I loved cooking and baking as a kid, but dad thought I’d become a fag if I helped out in the kitchen. And, although I hate to agree with him, he was right on that one. Making fairy cakes with mom, obviously made me a faggy fairy.”  
  
Juice laughed at that, knowing that his Papi was being silly and then the timer sounded for the first plate. Ronea grabbed the oven mittens and took it out. The rolls looked as delicious as they smelled: golden-brown with a crisp surface and all the soft, spicy sweetness hidden inside like a little bundle of sugary treasure covered with sprinkled nibbs like snow. Ronea took the next tray Juice had finished and put it in the oven.  
  
He removed the mittens and set the timer before going to the fridge.  
  
“I’m afraid we’re not really a regular milk and cookies household, but these tastes positively divine with a glass of cold almond milk.”  
  
Ronea poured the beverage in two glasses, placed two hot rolls on a plate and set it on the table. Juice looked nervous and Ronea sat down and reached his arms out.  
  
“Come, sit with Papi, baby boy.”  
  
The stress was back or maybe it had never left and Ronea rubbed his boy’s arms until he leaned into his neck, sitting comfortably on his lap.  
  
“There we go, sweetheart… Lets try and figure out how to deal with this sweet demon together, shall we, my love? What is it that makes you so tense around sweet food?”  
“Can’t… handle it, Papi.”  
“You’re afraid it’s gonna trigger a binge?”  
“Don’t know…”  
  
Ronea took one of the rolls and held it in his hand.  
  
“What’s gonna happen if you eat it, Juice? Or rather, what is it that you _fear_ will happen?”  
  
Juice looked at the small pastry, the silent anxiety firmly radiating from his frame.  
  
“If… if I have one… then I’m gonna eat them all…”  
“Uh-huh. You’re worried it will trigger a binge. Do you know why you feel that way, baby boy? Is it because you’ve learned that the chance to have it may not come back if you don’t take matter in your own hands?”  
“Don’t know, Papi… But I’ll eat’em an’ then I’m gonna be sick… ‘S a waste…”  
  
The boy clutched his tummy now.  
  
“These good things are for... _other_ people to enjoy… not… for me.”


	22. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibly triggering content, check the tags!

He knew he wasn’t getting a spanking so he didn’t even bother asking for one. The conflicted feelings were running wild inside him, though. The urge to binge and the shame for wanting things that were too nice for someone like him. The longing for a spanking mixed with fear of punishment and rejection. A very small voice of reason telling him that this was good, that it wasn’t a bad thing to talk about his past, but it was mostly drenched in waves of shame and guilt.  
  
Such a shameless, spoiled and greedy boy. No control. No boundaries. No _character._ Typically half-breed mutts, right? Ruining every nice moment for others, selfishly bringing up shit to gain sympathy like some big cry-baby who couldn’t get over not having cup-cakes as a kid. Boo fucking hoo. Whining even now, as if he wasn’t a grown ass man who ruled over his own food and had plenty of money to have whatever he wanted.  
  
“Baby boy? Can you hear me, sweetheart?”  
  
He looked up from his position on the floor. He didn’t recall when or how he’d left Papi’s lap but since he didn’t deserve to sit on it, it didn’t matter.   
  
“Juice, I want you to take this pill, my little love. Please, open your mouth for me, Juicy. There we go, good boy. Now have a sip of water. Very good, baby boy. _Very_ good.”  
  
Papi’s hands were warm or maybe it was Juice’s own who were cold. Things were blurry and opening his eyes made him feel dizzy and sick. He was such a bad boy, not even able to look at his Papi.  
  
“It’s alright, Juicy, it’s alright. Just a panic attack and you’ll feel better soon. No one will hurt you. You’re not gonna be yelled at or punished, you did _nothing_ wrong. Let me hold you, okay?”  
  
A warm body, long limbs swirling around him like a cage, not to keep him captured but to shut out those who harmed him. A deep sob left him and he hid into Papi’s neck.  
  
“Shh, baby boy, shh… I know you’re scared but I got you. We’re fighting this doughy demon together now. If I could I’d go back to that fucking bitch cunt and make her choke on her nasty ass cup-cakes. People who don’t feed their kids belong to the worst scum of the Earth.”  
“Wa-wasn’t really th-there k-kid though, Papi.”  
“You could’ve been the offspring of… fucking Stalin and, I don’t know, a psychopath in the making and it _still_ would’ve been completely unacceptable to treat you like that. One simply don’t fucking deny children nourishment or use food as a punishment!”  
  
Papi was angry, _very_ angry, but Juice didn’t move away. The anger was a bit scary but the words weren’t about him being naughty or bad. Papi’s angry words were directed toward people who couldn’t hear them and strangely, the man’s anger started to feel almost a little calming. It pushed other voices and faces away again, not giving anymore room for them to fester and swell out to choke his own thoughts. Papi’s arms and words kept them out.  
  
“I swear, baby boy, we’re gonna draw that poisonous shit out of your heart and mind. You’re such a brave person and it’s high time you’re getting to know yourself as that man. The man I love, the man Filip loves.”  
  
The use of Daddy’s name had Juice look up in surprise and Papi put his hands around his face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.  
  
“You’re not a loser, Juicy. You’re a bright, intelligent and increadibly loving and caring man. You may think that your need to be submissive, even dependent, is a sign of weakness, but it’s not. Giving yourself over to not just one but two people like you have, especially with your background, is nothing but a hell of a lot courage and strenght. And in these last days… Lord almighty, Juice, do you have any idea how much you’ve actually pushed yourself out of your comfort zone, confronting one nasty feeling after another?”  
  
Papi leaned their foreheads together, his sweet breath warm against Juice’s skin.  
  
“You’re gonna beat these demons until they’re nothing but unpleasant memories stucked far, far away where you can reach them but rarely will. Sometimes they may come up to the surface, just like my old wounds and memories do, but that’s all they will be, sweetheart: memories that, in time, will be less and less able to hurt you as much as they do now.”  
  
Juice sniffled a little, but it felt like he was a bit more safe now. As if Papi had brought him to a steady ground again. He curled into the crook of Papi’s neck, pulling the soothing scent into his nose as the med started to work, making the horror he’d just felt eating him from inside decrease little by little. He didn’t feel as dizzy, only tired and heavy and the worrying lump in his stomach hadn’t dissolved yet but it didn’t get any worse.  
  
For long minutes he was sitting like that, in Papi’s arms on the kitchen floor, just listening to the steady heartbeats and gentle mumbling from the man.  
  
“There you go, baby boy, nice and calm breathing… You’re handling this so well, my little love. I’m here and those assholes can’t hurt you no more. What do you think we should do with, what was that evil cunt’s name, baby boy? The bitch with the cup-cakes?”  
“Uhm… S-Susan, Papi.”  
“You know anyone you like with that name?”  
“No, Papi.”  
“Good, neither do I. Susan is an evil cunt, a lowlife fucking… tell me something more about her, baby boy.”  
“Sh-she’s a… born-again Christian…”  
“Who undoubtably never read the Gospels because Jesus wasn’t conservative enough for her. Follower of Christ, my chunky ass. Go on. How many kids did she squeeze out?”  
“Six, Papi.”  
“A lowlife fucking multi-breeder, of course. And a stay-at-home mom, right?”  
“Yeah…”  
“And I bet she used to participate in all the fucking fundraising shit, selling her overprized dry pies for charity too, huh?”  
“Pretty much, yeah.”  
   
Papi made something almost akin to a growl.  
  
“I’ve never liked religion, baby boy, and this is one of the reasons. Too many people use it only as a way of get away with being complete scums without feeling guilty. They wear their little cross necklaces over their properly buttoned clothes, never wearing too short skirts, too tight pants or too baggy ones. They say all the right things, know how to act in public and they go to church because it makes them feel good about themselves. They have no intention of acting compassionate, loving or selfless unless people they want to impress on can see it.”  
  
A small kiss on Juice’s hair, then a sigh.  
  
“My mom always said those were the kind of people that made her stay away from churches and religion. Because it was never about feeding the hungry, clothe the poor or visit the truly lonely ones. If my mom had been here, hearing what those bastards did to you, baby boy, I’d probably have to restrain and lock her inside the pantry, or she’d go on a roadtrip to your foster parents, with grandpa’s old rifle as well as his entire collection of hunting knives in her bag.”  
  
Juice had seen pictures of Elizabeth Tully and the image of the quite petit lady from the photos, often in the kitchen preparing a meal or playing with her son, absolutely didn’t occur to him as a murderous avenger on the highway. The way Papi pictured his mother now, a neat old woman with sharp knives pointing up from a purse, had a strange, bubbly kind of giggle build up inside him and before he knew it, he was laughing in Papi’s arms. Weakly, but it was still a laughter and the pressure over his chest eased up.   
  
Papi chuckled into the nape of his neck, giving the vertebra a nibbling kiss.  
  
“What do you say, love? How about we split a roll between us, you and Papi? Dipping it in some almond milk and just have a taste together? If the roll attacks you, I promise I’ll slice it up with mom’s knife and defend my baby boy’s honor to the last crumble.”


	23. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice's self-image is, to put it mildly, not the best.

“Ye remember wha’ ye answered when Papi asked ye how ye felt this morning, lovey?”  
“Not really, Daddy.”  
  
Well, at least his boy could answer now. Finding him and Ronea on the floor, however laughing, had been a heavy sight and for a moment Filip almost thought that either of his loves had had something way more serious than a panic attack. But Ronea had handled it expertly, keeping the lad calm and even had him talking.   
  
Now, Juice was sitting on the couch in the livingroom, visibly tired and numb from the meds after a short nap while Ronea had updated Filip on the conversation. Sometimes Filip felt it was a thin line between helping and breaking a confidence, but as long as Juice didn’t specifically ask any of them not to tell the other about something, it wasn’t really an issue. The fact that Juice more easily opened up to Ronea wasn’t strange or cause for concern either. In some ways, their skittish lover had more in common with his Papi, partly because they were both submissive, but more than that they shared a painful bond of past abuse that still haunted them to this day.  
  
Juice blinked a few times and choked a yawn.  
  
“Makes me tired, Daddy… All this…”  
“I know, Juicy. Takes a lot of energy, dealing with panic.”  
“You’ve had panic attacks, Daddy?”  
“Not like this, no, but I’ve seen yer Papi having them more times than I care to remember.”  
“You know everything about each other...”  
  
Filip shook his head and stroked Juice’s hair.  
  
“We’re married, not a human symbiosis, Juice. Truth is, ye’re never done getting to learn yer partners, friends or yerself. We constantly develop an’ very often, tha’s when we fear people will abandon us. As if every new thing tha’ happens to us is absolutely crucial an’ will lead to loneliness.”  
“How do you mean, Daddy?”  
“Well, tha’ often we believe a change of some sort has way more impact on ourselves an’ our loved ones than it actually has. I’m no shrink but I remember very vividly how much yer Papi struggled with himself in therapy. It was extremely draining an’ I think one o’ the hardest things for him, was the fact tha’ he couldna always tell the difference between exhaustion an’ sadness from a successful dealing with heavy stuff, an’ an episode o’ self-loathing an’ panic.”  
  
The lad didn’t look too confused, only tired and Filip took his hand.  
  
“About this morning, laddie, ye were keeping Papi company in the kitchen, helping him with the rolls, right?”  
“Yeah… I remember.”  
“Good. What else do ye remember, darlin’?”  
“Papi made me laugh…”  
“Aye, but before tha’. Before ye had a panic attack.”  
“Guess I was… triggered by something, as usual.”  
  
His lanugage was slightly affected by the previous panic attack and the meds. He wasn’t quite as polite as usual, which probably was a good thing right now so Filip let it slide. Instead, he stroke Juice’s hand with his thumb and looked him in the eye.  
  
“Food. Ye’re often triggered by food, Juice.”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Good, he wasn’t denying or had forgotten about it. It clearly rang a bell and that was a really good sign. Filip didn’t want to intimidate the lad by forcing eye contact, so when Juice bent his head, Filip simply helped him to lean onto his shoulder.  
  
“Am I right in tha’ it’s quite overwhelming for ye, being surrounded by vast amounts o’ food?”  
“Yes.”  
  
Juice’s voice was very small, but as long as Filip heard him, that wasn’t a problem. It was important to have the lad keep talking. He rubbed Juice’s arm, emphazising on how good he was for opening up.  
  
“Can ye remember how it was when ye had control over yer own food for the first time, Juicy? How old were ye?”  
“Nineteen. Or eighteen, but I still lived with… you know other people in a kinda half-way house motel looking place. Didn’t like sharing a kitchen with others. Guess I’m a bit of a germophobe at times.”  
“So how were yer meals like?”  
“Cheap fast food at first, but then I found an article about what was in it, so I sorta looked for healthier options. An’ when I’d saved a bit of money from my jobs, I bought a small refridgerator for my room.”  
“Tha’s the first time ye could actually stash more food?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“An’ what happened if ye opened it, lets say, in the morning, an’ saw it was empty or nearly empty?”  
  
The lad was already clutching his tummy, which really was all the answer Filip needed, but Juice still needed to put his own words into that feeling.  
  
“Got… really anxious, Daddy. An’ hungry. Even… even if I knew I could grab something on the go, wasn’t starving or anything, an’ could go out for lunch an’ then shop on the way home… It’s silly…”  
“Actually, it makes a lot o’ sence, Juice.”  
“So disgusting…”  
“Wha’s disgusting, lovey?”  
“I know how I _should_ eat and I have money now. S’no point in buying rubbish.”  
“But tha’s the food our brain craves when we’re anxious, Juice. Sugar an’ fat, t’is chemically comforting an’ ye have memories of not having regular meals or being allowed treats. Nice food, especially nice treats, represent something to ye tha’ triggers a lot of anxiety, am I right?”   
  
Juice took a deep breath.  
  
“I’m so sick of this, Daddy. I can’t seem to handle the simplest stuff anymore… “  
“Ye dinnae answer the question, laddie.”  
  
He wasn’t gonna let Juice dive into more self-loathing, even if talking about this was clearly difficult for the lad. Juice closed his eyes.  
  
“Please, I know you’re gonna be angry, Daddy…”  
“I promise I wont, lovey. Take yer time, Juicyboy, tell Daddy…”  
  
Juice opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, clearly bracing himself for whatever he thought would be the result of speaking the truth. Probably punishment and rejection.  
  
“Don’t deserve nice food… I’m… I’ll only eat too much of it and then throw it all up again. I’m just… a miserable, pathetic little shit…”  
  
As much as Filip wanted to tell him how wrong he was, interrupting the lad would be wrong now. He could see how the way Juice’s voice started to sound disconnected and empty, that his lover was partly zoning out in order to cope with the talking. Distancing himself in a way, from what he was saying, while word by word, breaking Filip’s heart.  
  
“I’m a mess… So… completely fucked up, you know. Can’t even stick to booze like normal guys. Or even drugs. I just eat an’ then it feels better for a while… Then I have to puke an’… An’ it feels better. ‘Cause I shouldn’t have those foods… ‘S why I try to not eat as much of Papi’s food… Don’ wanna waste it an’… An’ it’s greedy… I’m a greedy little pig…”


	24. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy has made a decision - but what is it? - and Juice is NOT happy.

“No!”  
“Juicy…”  
“No fucking way! You can’t make me do this!”  
“Juice, ye don’ even like it...”  
“Fuck you, I never said that! An’ I don’t give a fuck about what you say!”  
  
Ronea dropped the shirt he was about to put on the hanger and just stared at the scene that displayed in his kitchen. Filip was standing by the countertop, arms crossed with his eyebrows practically touching his hairline. And Juice… Juice was shouting, not out of panic but from rage and his cheeks were flushed, his eyes practically sparkling from it.  
  
The homemaker had had enough of his own fights with his husband to know what a hopeless endeavor it was to try and make Filip loose control of himself this way. Juice, how ever, didn’t and Ronea sent a silent prayer of thanks to their high hedges and lack of close neighbors before resolutely getting his earplugs in one of the drawers by the stove and put them in before returning to the laundry. He could still hear more than enough.  
  
“Juice, we don’ scream or curse at each other in this house. Sit down and calm yerself.”  
“I don’t _care_ , you get that?”  
“Aye, I heard ye the first time an’ so did our nearly deaf neighbor an’ every bird an’ beast a mile from here. Now, _sit down_.”  
“Fuck you!”  
_“Sit!”_  
  
Ronea so rarely heard his husband raise his voice like this and he hurried out from the laundry, heart speeding up. Juice actually did sit now and had a mixture of anger, fear, hurt and a huge amount of defiance on his face. Filip turned to look at his husband and rose his hand.  
  
“I handle this, lovey.”  
“But…”  
“Ronea, leave us.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Obeying his husband came like a reflex when he used _that_ voice and Ronea immediately abandoned any thought of interfering. Filip went up to him and gave a small kiss on the cheek, soothening the sharp voice he’d used and Ronea returned to the laundry, deciding that it wasn’t eaves-dropping unless Filip closed the door to the laundry room, which he didn’t. Filip’s short and sudden bark at least seemed to have curbed Juice’s need for shouting and Ronea removed the earplugs.   
  
“Are we gonnae talk calmly now, an’ spare Papi a heart attack?”  
“Yes, _sir_.”  
  
Ronea frowned over his pile of clothes. Juice sounded really defiant, but at least he seemed to try not to shout.  
  
“Thank ye. I’d like for us to talk civilized, like grown-ups.”  
“Thought I was a little _lad_ , old man.”  
_  
Jesus Christ._ Ronea shook his head in disbelief. If it was anything Filip hated almost as much as talking badly about yourself, it was this kind of sass in a completely inappropriate situation. Juice was simply way out of control now.  
  
“Ye’ve yerned for a spanking whole morning, Juice, an’ I assume ye’re happy now tha’ ye most certainly have earned yerself a proper one.”  
“I can leave this house, you know. I’m not your prisoner!”  
“Ye’re right, Juice. Ye’re not our prisoner an’ ye’re free to leave if ye want to, but I don’ think tha’s what ye want.”  
“Oh, so now you’re a mindreader too, huh? Of course, you’re a top, so you must know how to handle everything, right?”  
“Ye know tha’s not what I meant at all.”  
“Then why the hell are you treating me like I’m retarded?”  
“I don’t. I’m treating ye like a lad who’s outta control an’ needs help.”  
“Whatever.”  
“An’ since it’s obvious ye’re not capable of having a proper conversation right now, ye can go straight to the livingroom.”  
“Fine, just spank me and I’ll be so nice and sweet again. Or why not make me quit my job alltogether and become your little housewife like Papi!”  
  
Ronea closed his eyes, grateful that his husband had blocked him from interfering. Filip’s voice was still very even when he answered.  
  
“Livingroom, Juice. _Now._ ”


	25. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screaming and cursing at Papi and Daddy has severe consequences in this house...

There was a point where he would bend, no matter what. Problem was, it wasn’t always the same and now his emotions were drowning him again, having his hands shake.  
  
“Careful, Juice. I don’ wan’ ye to cut yerself.”  
  
Peeling ginger wasn’t difficult, or at least it shouldn’t be.  
  
“I don’t care…”  
“But _I_ do.”  
  
He could still feel his own rage, or whatever this mixture of absolute chaos was, but his managed to peel the vicious vegetable, handing it over to Daddy without a word.  
  
“That’ll do.”  
  
Daddy attached the ginger on a plugging device Juice hadn’t seen before.  
  
“Take the stool over there an’ place it in front of the desk, about eight inches from the edge.”  
  
Juice silently obeyed and Daddy nodded.  
  
“Good. Now pull yer pants an’ shorts down an’ lean onto the desk. Arse up an’ legs wide, please.”  
“Kay.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Tha’s better.”  
  
It was a little difficult to obey, simply because he was shaking. Once he’d bent down and spread his legs, he could feel Daddy’s hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Ye know wha’s about to happen, Juice?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Good. I will put a ring onto yer penis as well as numbing lotion, just in case. Although I doubt ye’ll need it, I wan’ yer body to truly know tha’ this is in _no way_ a spanking for emotional relief or pleasure. Am I clear?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
The ring and lotion was put on with gentleness. Daddy wasn’t rough like that and he attached some straps that seemed like strong lycra onto it, that were pulled back.  
  
“Spread yer legs, lad.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Juice braced himself and tried to relax as the well-lubed but huge and stingy piece was pushed inside him and efficiantly locked in place with the straps.  
  
“Now, sit down on the stool an’ be still.”  
“Y-yes, sir.”  
  
Daddy went to sit on the couch, picking up a book as Juice sat down, already flushed with embarressment and the raising discomfort from the ginger, while his cock was numb and limp due to the salve.  
  
The sting grew steadily and sitting without squirming was becoming more and more difficult. His hole was burning and he’d been a horrible boy to both Papi and Daddy, a mindless brat lashing out at the only ones who truly cared about him. Tears had already started to fall, but Daddy ignored them and Juice didn’t dare moving.  
  
He sat on the stool, head bent down and tried to keep calm. After what seemed like a gruesome, silent and burning eternity, Daddy put his book down.  
  
“Come over here, lad.”  
  
Juice didn’t answer, only obeyed and tried not to grimaze at the burn between his buttocks. It was humiliating to walk with his pants and shorts already down and he shivered when he stood next to his lover.  
  
Daddy patted his lap and Juice bent over, already shaking. He felt a gentle rub on his shoulders.  
  
“Ye need a pillow, Juicyboy?”  
“P-please, Daddy.”  
  
The using of the nickname made him respond automatically with Daddy instead of sir, but his strict lover just handed him the pillow without any reprimand for it. As soon as he was laying as steadily as possible, even if the ginger made him squirm and sob silently, Daddy let the item he’d chosen for his spanking brush lightly over his clenched buttocks.  
  
“I want ye to _think_ while I spank ye today, Juice. I want ye to think _very_ carefully at what ye did to bring yourself across my lap now.”  
“Yes, s-sir.”  
  
The burn from the ginger was very uncomfortable now and then Daddy started to spank him. All Juice could hear was the slapping sound of Papi’s large hairbrush against his stinging skin and his own pitiful whimpers muffled in the pillow. The strikes stopped for a moment.  
  
“What are ye thinking about, Juice?”  
“B-been bad, sir.”  
“Ye reckognize ye’ve done something tha’ deserves a hard spanking, then?”  
“Y-yes, sir.”  
“Good. No more ‘sir’ now, Juicy.”  
“O-okay, Daddy.”  
  
Daddy continued spanking him and it stung terribly now, both on and inside his ass. Each slap has his sore flesh quiver and involuntarily clench around the ginger, making the burn intolerable and what had been sobs developed from small whimpers, now become a loud and uncontrolled crying.  
  
He’d been a very, very bad boy for screaming and cursing at both his lovers when all they wanted was to help him. Daddy was right. He’d lost control completely and not trusted his lovers to guide him, but instead lashed out, even tried to hurt them. And all because he just couldn’t handle his emotions on his own, or trust his lovers to step in when that clearly was what he’d needed all along.  
  
“S-so sorry, Daddy. I was so... ow! W-was s-so rude… ow!”  
  
It took all his willpower not to beg for Daddy to stop, but the pain was dangerously close to his limit and Juice no longer cared about composing himself. He simply gave in to the feelings of shame, guilt and humiliation, only now the physical pain and steady position over Daddy’s lap kept his mind from reeling.  
  
When Daddy finally stopped, the pillow Juice clutched in his arms was sticky from tears and snot, his ass was burning inside out and he whimpered as Daddy removed the ginger plug and pulled Juice’s pants and shorts off completely.  
  
“Lay on yer side, lovey, face to me. Tha’s right, c’mere. Let Daddy hold ye now.”  
  
Daddy was much better to clutch than a pillow and Juice cried into his chest as the warm hand stroke his shoulders in rubbing circles.  
  
“Took yer spanking so well, lil’ one. Ye were extremely rude an’ I know ye’ll want to apologize to Papi, right?”  
“Y-yes, Daddy. To you too. I was… _terrible_.”  
“Shh, lovey, shh. Aye, ye were terribly _rude_ , but _ye’re_ not a terrible _person_ , alright? This doesn’t change how much we love ye, laddie. Things have been _really_ rough for ye an’ believe me when I say tha’ I know it’s not always easy to know how to handle or where to direct feelings of chaos an’ pain.”  
“D-didn’t wanna hurt you or Papi, Daddy. Not really… But I did.”  
“I know, lil’ one, I know. We don’ think ye’ve suddenly decided to be mean on purpose, an’ we cannae help wha’ we feel, but it’s _never_ okay to take it out on others.”  
“I-I know, Daddy. S-so sorry.”  
“An’ I can see tha’ ye understand ye did wrong an’ is truly sorry for it, so _of course_ ye’re forgiven, laddie. Wha’ I’d like to know, is if ye’re still thinking tha’ I’m treating ye, to use yer own word, like a retard?”  
  
That just set off more tears, but Daddy kept scratching Juice’s neck gently, waiting for his answer.  
  
“N-no, Daddy. C-can’t believe I said that.”  
“I have to say I was… surprised myself, Juicy. I dinnae realise just how much ye struggled with these mood swings. Must’ve been really, really exhausting for ye, huh?”  
“Jus’… please, Daddy, I don’ mean to be rude again, but I donno how to…”  
“S’okay, lovey. Working on how to express yerself is our priority an’ also wha’s gonnae help ye to talk about yer feelings before they take over an’ lead ye over my lap.”  
“N-needed it, though, Daddy.”  
“Aye, but there should be no need of getting panic attacks an’ screaming at yer Papi in the process. Ye realise how serious I take screaming at him?”  
“Yes, Daddy. S’why I got the ginger, right?”  
“Aye. An’ ye’re going to stay home for as long as _I_ deem necessary, ye understand?”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
“Good. Ye will also go back to wear nappies fulltime again.”  
“F-for how long, Daddy?”  
“Until I tell ye otherwise. We’ll discuss the matter of yer work an’ yer anxiety later when ye’ve rested a bit an’ asked Papi for forgiveness, we’re clear, lovey?”  
“Y-yes, Daddy. I-I’ll try to b-be a good boy again.”  
“An’ tha’ makes me a _very_ happy Daddy, kiddo. An’ remember tha’ me an’ Papi love ye so very much, even when ye’re misbehaving.”


	26. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy needs Papi - and some black gold.

Filip didn’t enjoy giving these kind of hard spankings. It gave him no sense of victory, power or satisfaction to actually implicit physical pain and emotional strain onto his husband and lover. It was all about the big picture and the longterm goal: to make both his loved ones feel safe, happy, secure and free. To have them feel good about themselves and face life without fear and unhealthy boundaries.  
  
Juice was now in bed, wearing only a nappy that most certainly felt uncomfortable against his red skin. Filip would give aloe later on, of course, but the sting was meant to be felt for a while and with his cock locked too, the lad wouldn’t be able to sneakily rub one out in case the embarressment and stress relief made nature take it’s course and give him a boner. He had his pacifier, though, and when Filip left the bedroom, Juice was sucking on it in that intense, soothing way that meant he was finally able to self-calming again, safely tucked under warm blankets.  
  
The decision to let Juice have a moment to himself before apologizing to Ronea, wasn’t how they usually did things, but the lad hadn’t protested in the slightest once he’d calmed down after the spanking and talking. Filip had carried him upstairs and undressed him on the bed and Juice had only whimpered a little when the diaper came on, obediantly lifting and widening his legs. Filip even granted him a bit more numbing cream onto his cock and balls to make the possible case of a boner less likely to cause any sexual stimulation.  
  
Of course, Filip had tucked him in properly too, making sure the lad wouldn’t freeze or feel uncomfortable anywhere else except his sorry bottom. There was also a package of tissues and a bottle of water on one of the nightstands in case Juice felt thirsty or needed another cry. If he really needed something else, he could call for Daddy, but Filip thought a little time alone could do the lad good. Not to feel abandoned or forgotten, it wasn’t a punishment, but to actually wind down. Acting out like a child, meant Juice would, in some ways, be treated as one.  
  
The sore, diapered bottom would help him focus better now and in a way Filip could actually understand why his lover had acted out that badly. Juice hadn’t had a proper spanking in a while and when he felt like the world was getting too unsteady, even positively shaky, he was desperate for grounding. Probably more so than he’d been desperate for control. The humiliation Juice so clearly felt from the spankings, the nappies and being put to bed to calm down, was also doing a number on him. That particular kink wasn’t something he shared with Ronea. While obediance and submission, especially in bed, of course, were Filip’s submissive partners major turn-ons, Juice’s need for forgiveness stretched way beyond Ronea’s.  
  
It seemed as if simply obeying and taking a spanking was enough for Juice to feel safe. The poor lad’s self-image was so distorted by shame, he craved a more frequent reminder that his Daddy and Papi could put him through humiliating discipline, yet never ever ridicule, shame or turn him away for it. By taking away his ability to touch himself and go to the bathroom, Filip wanted Juice to regain the feeling of being absolutely safe. That he could let go and feel small in a good way again. Small, not diminished, stupid or incapable. It both was and wasn’t a correction.  
  
When he came down to the kitchen, Ronea was pouring coffee in two cups. He didn’t seem distressed or even tense and Filip took the offered black gold with a smile.  
  
“How did ye know I’d be done by now an’ in desperate need o’ caffein, lovey?”  
“Must be my supreme Ohio genes and superior IQ.”  
  
Filip chuckled and Ronea sat down with him, smiling.  
  
“Or, maybe I simply know you that well after twentyfour years, Mr. Telford. How’s my old man and baby boy doing?”  
“Yer old man indeed feels old an’ yer lil’ one is back in nappies an’ chastity.”  
“For being rude to me?”  
“That, an’ he needed to settle back again. This… it’s gone way too fast for him, lovey. It’s too much mess going around in tha’ head.”  
“No work for a while then, I guess.”  
“Ye guess right.”  
  
Ronea took a sip of his coffee.  
  
“I have to admit, it was kinda hard when the two of you… Made me nervous, Filip. Was difficult to hear you spanking him too. I know you used the ginger.”  
“Ye disapprove?”  
“No, I trust you. Besides, I could tell when you took him upstairs that you two were good. Still sad it had to go that far, though.”  
“I know, lovey. So am I.”  
“You gave him a good cuddle?”  
“Of course.”  
“Talked about what triggered it?”  
“Not yet. I wan’ him to have tha’ talking with both of us when he’s calmer. Which means ye an’ I need to talk this morning through again. Wha’ happened while I was in the garage an how the living _hell_ he’s so eager going back to a work he doesn’t even like, tha’ he’s ready to throw a tantrum like this.”  
  
His husband sighed and scratched his neck.  
  
“I agree we have to talk, baby, but I for that to happen, I’m gonna need something strong in my coffee.”


	27. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some important talking over a glass of whisky or two. Ronea has just told Filip about the panic episode in the kitchen.

“… so in other words: Juice is really, really damaged, Filip.”  
“Knew it was bad, but this is… bloody hell…”  
“More scotch?”  
“Please.”  
  
Ronea refilled both their glasses and his husband gingerly downed his drink before giving him a worried look.  
  
“Was I too hard on him, lovey?”  
“How did he act when you left him to rest?”  
“Calm, regretful an’ sucking on his pacifier. Exhausted.”  
“Crying?”  
“No. Dinnae protest against the nappy or the chastity either. I think he was actually calmed by it.”  
“Then you know the answer, baby. Don’t secondguess yerself anymore now, okay? ”  
  
Filip hummed and nodded.  
  
“Aye. Got’im tha’ numbing cream on his cock too. Just to… I don’ wan’ him to get aroused by this an’ get in his mind tha’ he needs to be rude to ye to satisfy a kink we already can indulge willingly. I’ve never… with ye it’s never about this, ye know.”  
“The humiliation?”  
“Aye. I _love_ to see when he gets to tha’ point where it’s jus’…”  
“…all over his face how happy and safe he feels?”  
  
Ronea smiled at his husband’s slightly surprised look.  
  
“Come on, baby, you’ve seen it more than I have. When he’s in complete ectasy and just floats in that feeling…”  
“…no matter if it’s a spanking or sex…”  
  
Now Filip smiled too and sighed.  
  
“Had I not used tha’ lotion, he’d probably come within ten blows… Jesus Christ, how bloody exhausting woldna’ tha’ be?”  
“If I got heavily turned on every time you spanked me I’d probably begged for you to let me write lines instead. I’m not young and insatiable anymore.”  
“I can do with middleaged an’ irregularly horny. Hey!”  
  
Ronea had stopped his motion to fill Filip’s glass again, pouting.  
  
“You hurt my middleaged feelings, old man. You don’t deserve my whisky or my _irregular_ ass.”  
“Tha’ bottle is mine.”  
“And has the only hole you’ll fuck from now on unless you make it up to me, Mr. Telford.”  
“Ye’re trying to make yerself cute on purpose…”  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
He leaned over the table, resting his chin in his hands, smiling and fluttering his lashes.  
  
“Does it work?”  
“God…”  
“Am I not pretty anymore…? You think I’m getting old and saggy…”  
  
His husband glared, but only a little, trying to look stern but he’d always been a complete and utter softie for this particular trick. Which, in all fairness, was why Ronea very rarely used it. Even so, Filip couldn’t help but fall for it every time.  
  
“Ye’re incorrigible…”  
“And you love it.”  
“I do. Jus’ wish Juice dinnae hate me right now.”  
“Baby, he hates not being in control, he doesn’t hate you.”  
“Usually he gets pretty relieved when I make the decisions.”  
“You told him to quit his job.”  
“No, but he _thinks_ I did, ‘cause he refused to pause an’ listen.”  
“Then let me listen, because I’m not really sure what this is all about, Filip.”  
  
Filip sighed and turned his empty glass on the table.  
  
“I told him he’d have to wait to start working again, which he reluctantly agreed was a good decision. He’s not stupid, no matter wha’ he thinks of himself, an’ he knows tha’ he’s not fit to work at the moment.”  
“Which is reasonable.”  
“Aye, but he wasn’t as happy ‘bout my suggestion tha’ he should look for another job.”  
“Oh… Well, is that how you said it?”  
  
Filip made a grimaze.  
  
“I said he dinnae functioned in tha’ work environment an’ tha’ I couldna allow him to do something tha’ could make’im ill again.”  
“Lord almighty, Filip…”  
“Had he not… bloody imploded the second after, I could’ve explained tha’ I dinnae mean it like tha’…”  
“But by then he’d already broken quite a few major rules and was out of control as well. I get it, baby.”  
“I know he dinnae intend on being so rude, but I had to draw a limit. If there’s no consistency in our rules, he’ll only get confused an’ feel insecure.”  
“Which is the last thing he needs now. I mean, the nigtmares, the panic attacks and these last days have just been crazy…”  
“Ye see, tha’s why I cannae figure out why he threw this tantrum over work. He hates working there, lovey. I honestly thought he’d be… “  
“Relieved?”  
“Something like tha’, aye.”  
“Well…”  
  
Ronea finished his own drink and stared a moment at the melting ice cubes in the glass.  
  
“In a way, I completely understand Juice with this. Doesn’t mean I excuse his behavior, but I think I know a little about where this comes from.”  
  
His husband didn’t answer, which meant he was waiting for Ronea to explain. Ronea scratched his neck.  
  
“I know that Juice, deep down, understands why you want him to rethink his work situation. I have to say you could’ve handled the whole explanation thing better, though. I mean, starting by telling him he needs to stop working was just…”  
“Stupid?”  
“Yes. He was already stressed out from the panic attack earlier on, believing he didn’t deserve to have nice food. He snapped out of it quite quickly, I have to say, and took his meds and we talked about it, but I just think that considering all the stress and sudden turns he’s been through, realising he’d loose control over work too was just too much to handle.”  
“Even if he doesn’t even like his work?”  
  
Ronea nodded.  
  
“Absolutely. It’s not about whether he likes it or not, it’s all about control. Work is currently the one thing he’s at least partly in control of and I suspect that going back there, started to build up a lot of tension in a quite slow and sneaky way.”  
“So why does he think I’m trying to stop him from working with something he wants?”  
“Because he’s probably very used to people doing just that and he still has a long way to go with trust. Have you really forgotten how long it took for me to fully trust you, baby? Even when I desperately wanted to.”  
“Jesus, Ronea, I’m not good at figuring this stuff out…”  
“And I thank God you’re not, baby. This kind of knowledge comes with a high price…”  
“I’m sorry, I dinnae…”  
“Don’t go there, Filip Telford. I will happily obey you in almost everything, but I refuse to let you go down a completely unnecessary, not to mention just unfair guilt trip, just because you’re worried about Juice. You’re a wonderful husband and lover, a fair and loving top and the most caring and gentle man I know. You also know when to let go and let me handle things. Mostly, anyway.”  
  
He gave Filip his teasing smirk.  
  
“And now, I think there’s a certain baby boy who needs his Papi.”


	28. Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juice and Papi have a little moment together <3

He’d been very naughty and gotten his punishment. The skin on his buttocks was very sore and his hole still stung a bit from the ginger, the diaper itched and he was very aware of the chastity ring. Juice’s entire body was, how ever, very relaxed and he’d let nature take it’s course, using the diaper and feeling completely comfortable doing it. He couldn’t remember feeling constipated or worried in his tummy, but maybe he’d just not paid attention. At the moment, the filled diaper wasn’t on his mind half as much as how much he wanted to ask for Papi’s forgiveness.

Daddy had been right. Juice sucked intensly on his pacifier, savoring the burn from the spanking. He’d been completely out of control and that had been a very scary feeling he never wanted to have again. He couldn’t even fully understand why he’d lashed out the way he did, just that in that moment it had felt like his whole world was crumbling to pieces around him. Just chaos and that had caused him to turn defiant when he’d needed obediance the most.

Even if the spanking had hurt and he could still feel the sting from the ginger, Juice knew now without any doubt that he’d needed all of it. To be reminded of who made the decisions and that Daddy made those decisions for Juice’s own good. He’d vowed to temporarily let go of his own free will in order to let Daddy and Papi care for him so that he could heal. Their rearranged contract gave Daddy the last say in all things concearning Juice’s health, yes, but if Juice had stopped a moment to think, he’d known that Daddy didn’t have the right to tell him where to work, live or look. This relationship wasn’t a prison and he knew that, so why had he been so mean to Papi and Daddy? The tears the spanking had eliticed were gone, but as he’d been laying alone in bed, having time to think in silence about what he’d done, Juice started crying again. He buried his face into the pillow, sobbing to the point where his body was actually shaking from it.

“Baby boy?”

Papi! Juice was too lost in his crying to even look up, let alone answer, but then he felt the shift in he mattress and familiar arms cradled his head, pulling him close to that warm chest.

“S-so so-sorry, P-papi…”  
“Shh, baby, shh. I know, sweetheart, I know and I forgive you. It’s alright, baby boy, Papi’s not mad at you and I love you so much. You have no idea how I’ve longed to snuggle with my little love. And we’ll talk properly about it in a while, but how about we just have a cuddle right now? Think we both need it. And Papi understands you better than you might think. Just try and relax, baby boy.”  
“K-kay, Papi.”  
“Good boy.”

Whimpering in Papi’s arms was just what he needed and the lingering parts from the feeling of being a bad boy unworthy of love was slowly going away. Papi kissed his crown.

“You do realise that we have to work on this issues together, sweetheart?”  
“Y-yes, Papi.”  
“That means there’ll be a more strict routine from now on and that you’ll have to wait with work again for a little while.”  
“I-I know, Papi.”  
“And how do you feel about it now?”  
“D-don’t really know yet, Papi. But I… I don’t feel scared anymore. Least not m-much.”  
“And what were you scared of, baby boy?”

Juice sniffled.

“L-losing c-control, I guess.”  
“I think that’s a pretty good guess, Juicy. I’m very happy that the spanking helps you so much.”  
“N-need a fresh diaper, though, Papi.”  
“Daddy’s coming up in a minute, love. He’ll help you get changed while I make you something light to eat.”  
“Y-you’re not angry with me anymore, Papi?”  
“Not at all. I got hurt and worried, but I feel so much better now that I’ve talked to my sweet boy. I know how awful it feels when you know you’ve been naughty and you both want to make amends and take your spanking, and at the same time is just too caught up in the bad feelings you just want to refuse absolutely everything. The ginger and brush is a harsh treatment, I’ve earned it myself several times, but it helps me so much in the end. And from what I can tell, it helps you too.”  
“It does, Papi. It really does.”


	29. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Daddy to snuggle his lil' one.

His lad was clingy but a lot more calm than Filip had expected and he even reached out for his Daddy as Ronea gave them the room for themselves. Filip happily gave his exhausted lover a cuddle and indeed, the body that had been tense enough to burst in it’s seams, now was all lax and needy for closeness, the angstridden mind no longer depriving it from seeking comfort.  
  
“Daddy…”  
“Hey, lovey…”  
  
Filip’s heart soared at the fact that Juice wasn’t begging for forgiveness again, but seemed to fully give in to his need for physical contact and love. He rocked the almost limp form in his arms, nuzzling the crook of Juice’s neck.   
  
“How are ye feeling, lil’ one?”  
“A… a lot better, Daddy. S-so sorry for being so rude, though.”  
“An ye’re completely forgiven, Juicyboy, so please, don’ dwell in it anymore, darlin’. I’m not angry or disappointed with ye an’ neither is Papi. This aint a catastrophe of any kind, I promise.”  
  
Spankings were so much more than the actual physical punishment, Filip thought as he cuddled his lover. He’d spent many years developing the proper way to spank his husband, so that it was beneficial for them both and to experience it with Juice was both very similar to it and yet very different.   
  
It was so important to follow a predictable, safe routine with a little room for surprises as possible. The first part was, of course, to explain why if his husband or lover showed even the slightest hint of uncertainty about the reason they’d earned a spanking. Second part was to guide them through that first humiliating part of submission where they literally were treated like unruly little lads. Their first natural insticts were always inner upset, defiance of some sort, fear and shame.   
  
Confusion quite often, but not always, followed on top of it and they both felt a huge amount of embarressment while bending over, truly feeling a lot more naked with only their bottoms exposed over their top’s lap. The third part was to make sure they laid steady and comfortable, gently prepare them for what was about to happen, let them feel the instrument nudging their skin first and not start too hard.  
  
Both men needed to get to a point where they could cry. If they didn’t, then the spanking wasn’t working and Filip hadn’t provided them with what they needed. He never wanted to bruise them, only give the soreness they craved and especially with Juice, the ginger was very helpful in that regard. Filip had actually tried it on himself many years ago, alone of course, to know what it was he actually did to Ronea and that had given him a very useful lesson in exactly how much pain that little piece of veggie could inflict.   
  
He rarely used it on Ronea, mainly because his husband usually didn’t need it to let go or remember his vows, but Juice was increadibly difficult sometimes when it came to let go and allow that shame to show instead of locking it inside. Ronea’s way of dealing with the self-hatred in the past, had been to inflict pain onto himself and hide away, scream the walls down in fury and despair and shut Filip out in every sense, until he got so exhausted and miserable he simply couldn’t put up resistance anymore.  
  
That was a crucial point, because in that moment, when Ronea’s walls of protection came crashing down, Filip’s own emotions had to be in control and firmly in second place, no matter how much _he’d_ been hurt. The number one priority was and always would be, to reach through his husband’s tendency to self-hatred and shame. With Juice, how ever, it was different because unlike Ronea, he didn’t have twenty plus years of experience from being loved and accepted exactly as he was.   
  
The part _after_ a spanking was just as important as the preparation. In Filip’s own experience, that was when both men felt the most exposed and fragile and would easily slip back into shame and self-loathing unless he was there to make sure he didn’t despise or turned away from them. Juice, especially, needed a lot of praise and love, cuddles and assurance after a spanking. Shame was a two-faced feeling to a much larger extent than to Ronea, because it was also a major turn-on.   
  
Wearing nappies increased that feeling, as did the chastity device, which really was the opposite of a chastisement in a way, but even if his libido was sky rocketing, the chastity put a stop for any kind of actual sexual stimulation. Letting himself be treated as a baby wasn’t a kink for Juice, but a way of handling his overwhelming need for letting go of control and experience complete trust. Juice’s rebellion was about two equally strong urges clashing: the need for control so that no one could hurt him like he’d been hurt in the past, and the longing for someone to take over and just let him rest.  
  
Someone who wouldn’t shame him for wetting or soiling himself. Someone who’d allow him to show his feelings instead of hiding them. Arms to crawl into during a nightmare, hands preparing good food for him, lips who’d kiss him and say nice things. No name calling, shaming, hatred or rejection.  
  
The lad had longed for this spanking, because laying over Filip’s lap made him feel safe despite all the chaotic feelings. Because spankings, in the house, would start and end with love and care.   
  
“Daddy?”  
“Aye, lil’ one?”  
“Daddy still loves Juicy, right?”  
“So much, my love. Daddy loves his Juicyboy jus’ as much as he loves Papi.”  
  
A little aftermath sniffle.  
  
“Juicy loves Daddy too. C-can you p-please change Juicy’s diaper, Daddy? ‘M wet and dirty.”  
“Of course, laddie.”  
“Daddy?”  
“Aye?”  
“Thank you for spanking and correcting me.”


	30. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi holds his boy while Daddy takes care of some itching business.

Juice’s need for independence had backfired harshly thanks to his severe anxiety and now that his spanking, sincere apology and much needed cuddles were done, the boy almost eagerly laid down on the changing mat and lifted his legs widely apart. Since Filip had spanked and figged him, it was best that he took care of the diaper change as well, but Ronea still took part, by simply sitting behind Juice’s head and hold his feet for him so the exhausted boy could relax.  
  
The boy sucked on his pacifier and nuzzled into Ronea’s thigh. He was very needy right now, which wasn’t the least surprising and Ronea and Filip would both indulge him as much as possible. Filip removed the chastity ring and then the full diaper that didn’t smell so bad thanks to the scented candles he’d lightened before carrying Juice to the bathroom.  
  
“Lift yer butt a lil’, please, Juice.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
  
Juice lifted his hips with Ronea’s help to give Filip access with his soft washcloth and vial with baby oil.  
  
“Tha’s a good boy.”  
  
Filip was so gentle and methodical, not rushing but wanting to really make sure his boy didn’t have any dirt left. He then proceeded to simply let Juice lower his backside down in a small plastic tub with lukewarm water and began to wash his penis and balls first. The boy was actually quite hairy and Filip looked at him.  
  
“Would ye like for Daddy to shave ye too, while we’re at it, darlin’?”  
  
Juice looked nothing but relieved and nodded almost fiercly.  
  
“Yes, _please_ , Daddy. S’been itching for days now.”  
  
Filip first put numbing cream onto Juice’s cock again, rubbing it in with extra effort on the tip, which Ronea could fully understand. This was not the right time for a boner of any sort and while Juice whined a little at the treatment, he didn’t protest but just sucked on his pacifier and let Ronea soothe him. Filip then restarted his washing procedure, taking the cloth to Juice’s perineum and then his sore hole.  
  
Shaving their boy’s entrance wasn’t as easy since Juice couldn’t have anymore numbing cream there. Ronea knew that he needed to feel the burn both inside and outside for at least a day to get the most out of it and numbing it out would be wrong. He still whimpered though and his large, flaccid cock even seemed to twitch a little from the treatment. Filip finished as quickly as he could while still being very gentle and soon the boy was not only smooth as silk around his puckered flesh, but on his balls and entire groin as well.  
  
Filip smiled at him when he was finished.  
  
“There ye go, lovey. Nice an’ clean all over. Now we jus’ need some aloe, powder an’ a clean nappy.”  
  
Juice was just as pliant and cooperative with being rinsed over the small tub and then dried with a towel and have the usual shot of aloe to remove the worst sting from the ginger. He didn’t try to hide or make a fuss, quite the contrary, he seemed to relish. Ronea stroke soft, soothing circles with his hand over Juice’s belly, distracting him while Filip properly powdered him before putting a clean chastity device onto the limp cock. They had several of them and it was important that Juice had a clean one.  
  
Once he was properly dry, powdered and the chastity was in place, Filip put a new diaper on and a pair of loose, soft sweats and warm socks. He then bent over to plant a kiss onto Juice’s forehead.  
  
“There. Clean, dry an’ safe, lovey.”  
“Thank you, Daddy.”  
“Ye’re welcome, kiddo. Now I think it’s time for something to eat.”


	31. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice and Papi time <3

Just feeling the burn on his buttocks but not having his cock responding was a weird but not actually unpleasant sensation. Daddy had taken care of his itching for him and now Juice felt truly little again. He hadn’t seen himself that much during the change, but he knew that his bottom was properly red and would be so for a few days. Red and sore, wonderfully uncomfortable to sit on and Papi and Daddy would see it everytime they changed him.  
  
He’d been naughty, a truly bad boy, and he’d been punished. He’d went through the burn and humiliation from the ginger and hairbrush, been forgiven and comforted, cuddled for a long time until he felt secure again.   
  
And Daddy had decided it all. Daddy was in charge, he knew best and it felt completely fair having been spanked, figged and then put in not just diapers but chastity as well. Tomorrow he’d call in sick and soon also have a new appointment with Dr. Case for a proper exam. Daddy had decided on that. They’d also sit down to talk, Juice, Papi and Daddy alone, in a day or two. That was a Daddy decision as well and now Juice could see that it was a good one. For now, though, Daddy and Papi both thought he needed a short breathing space. They probably needed one too.  
  
As for now, talking wasn’t required or even a good idea, since Juice was laying in Papi’s arms, sucking on a bottle. For some reason, he wasn’t sent straight to bed now, but allowed to be with them. He’d been behaving badly, but wasn’t abandoned. Truth was, Juice felt really good now, all the knotted up anxiety and frustration from before gone and his sore bottom a reminder of how much his Daddies cared for him. He let go of the bottle, swallowed and looked up at his lover.  
  
“Papi?”  
“Yes, sweetheart?”  
“Are you ever scared when Daddy spanks you?”  
“Well, yes and no, baby boy. A part of me is really anxious, worried and just upset with what I’ve done. I hate disappointing him, you know.”  
“Me too, Papi.”  
“I aslo feel ashamed, because I’m a grown man who’s laying bare over his own husband’s lap and that’s embarressing to me.”  
“Y-you cry too, Papi?”  
“Uh-huh. You know it can feel quite overwhelming when that feeling of relief hits you. And before I met Daddy, I spent so many years forcing myself not to cry, _especially_ when I really needed to, which screwed pretty badly with my head. There’s of course always a part of me that just wants to run away and escape the spanking, because of the physical pain and the humiliation.”  
  
Papi smiled and stroke his cheek.  
  
“But then there’s just that absolute need I have for it. When Daddy spanks me, he’s giving me what I need in order to feel so completely safe and loved and accepted, I feel like I’m practically rediscovering everything that’s good about me and that I _deserve_ to be loved and cared for. That I can have my outlet and Daddy wont stop loving me.”  
“Think I know… a little of that feeling, Papi.”  
“I bet you do, baby boy. And when we have a more thoroughly talking about this, your sore bum will help you to stay calm, I’m sure.”   
“Think so, Papi?”  
“Absolutely, my little love.”  
“Is it wrong that I kinda like this, Papi? I mean, it hurts and I really regret being so mean to you, but… I feel better when my butt is sore.”  
“There’s nothing wrong with that, baby boy.”  
  
Now Papi actually patted Juice on the front of his pants and Juice blushed.  
  
“P-please, Papi. Do that again?”  
“You’re not getting aroused, are you, Juicy?”  
“No, Papi. Jus’… Jus’ like feeling you…”


	32. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi feels bad for breaking a rule and Daddy makes a completely new move.

“I don’ know, Ronea.”  
“You don’t know? I touched him despite the fact that it was a completely inappropriate situation. I deserve a reprimand.”  
“Calm yerself, lovey.”  
  
For once, Filip wasn’t really sure how to address this. On the other hand, Ronea absolutely shouldn’t give in to any intimite touching like that while Juice was in a state where he couldn’t deal with it. There was a reason for the chastity and numbing lotion. On the other hand, neither of them had actually intended to engage in something sexual, it was just a need for closeness and touching that went a little too far. But then again, no one got so upset with lack of consequences as Ronea and to just bypass it was a bad idea.  
  
Filip pulled his distressed husband close and hugged him.  
  
“I have a suggestion, lovey…”  
“Filip, please, this isn’t the right time for _suggestions_.”  
“Alright, baby. This is how we’ll do…”  
  
After a little talking that had Ronea blush and look equally relieved and embarressed, Filip resolutely took his hand and went out to Juice, who was sitting on the couch with a worried look on his face.  
  
“Daddy, it’s my fault, I…”  
“Shh, laddie, calm down an’ let Daddy talk. Please, sit down next to Juice, lovey.”  
  
Juice and Ronea thankfully obeyed and Filip lowerd by them, taking Juice’s hand too.  
  
“Boys, this is _non negotiable_ Daddy decision I’m making righ’ now, an’ I’m also a wee bit tired, so this is _really_ not a good time for protests. I only expect a ‘yes, Daddy’ and ‘yes, Filip’, am I clear?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
“Good. Since Papi touched ye in a, for the moment, inappropriate way despite knowing it was wrong, I am going to spank him, Juicy. It will be a fairly light spanking, but the thing is, I will do it in front o’ ye. Ye coaxed Papi into touching ye in a way tha’s not acceptable yet, so ye will have to endure watching me spank him. That’ll be _yer_ punishment, ye understand me, Juicy?”  
“Y-yes, Daddy.”   
“Good. Ronea, ye should really know better than to give into those feelings but I also realise ye dinnae intend to indulge in anything sexual. Tell me why it was wrong o’ ye to touch Juice?”  
“Because you didn’t give permission, Filip.”  
“True. So wha’s yer explanation?”  
  
His husband took a deep breath, sighing in what clearly was disappointment with himself.  
  
“I have no excuse for my behavior, Filip. In that moment, I wasn’t even thinking, which I should’ve, and I let my feelings control me without thinking about the rules and how my action would hurt both you and Juice. Which is why a ask for you to correct me so that I can better myself and earn your forgiveness and renewed trust.”  
  
God, his husband was so adorable when he yerned for a spanking like this… Filip didn’t want to drag it out any further though, knowing it would cause Ronea stress, and he went to sit on the footstool, patting his lap.  
  
“Pull yer pants down but keep the panties on, Ronea, and bend over, please.”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
  
His husband obeyed eagerly, while Juice stared in what seemed to be both worry and anticipation. Filip almost smiled to himself, because he’d seen something akin to that look in Ronea’s eyes the first time Juice had bent over the couch. Ronea settled into position and Filip then pulled down his panties. He looked up and Juice seemed a little worried now, so Filip gave him a what he really hoped was a gentle look.  
  
“S’arlight, Juice. I still love ye an’ Papi. Now watch Papi take _his_ spanking like the good husband we both know he is.”  
  
The spanking he gave his dutiful and loving husband wasn’t enough to make him cry but merely symbolical and Filip didn’t want him to break tears, since the transgression had been so small he only gave the spanking because he, just as Ronea, had to stick to their agreement. After twenty solid but not too forceful slaps with his hand, he stopped and pulled his husband’s panties back up before allowing him to raise and adjust his pants too.   
  
Ronea looked very embarressed but also relieved and when Filip held his arms out, his husband leaned into them immediately.  
  
“I’m sorry, Filip.”  
“An’ ye’re forgiven, lovey. Ye did good, Ronea. I’m proud o’ ye an’ I love ye.”   
  
He nuzzled the crook of Ronea’s neck, then sliding over to kiss him. Reassuring him, really, that everything was fine before reaching out for Juice.  
  
“C’mere, Juicy.”  
  
The lad, who actually looked in awe now, didn’t have to be asked twice and soon Filip had both his boys in his arms, holding onto him like he was their safe haven. He rubbed the nape of his husband’s neck a little extra, to keep him stay in the soothing feeling. They’d never done this with Juice present and it was natural for Ronea and the lad to have some reaction to it, which thankfully was a need for cuddles.  
  
Although Filip couldn’t imagine spanking his husband in front of anyone, even Juice, unless there was a very special reason for it, he could feel with all his being that this had been good. Juice had gotten to see more of Ronea’s submissive side and how a need for forgiveness and making amends looked like when it was anticipated with trust and love. And Ronea had needed it, which really was why it happened at all. Filip cradled his husband and lover, nuzzling first Ronea’s then Juice’s hair.  
  
“Love ye both so much… My good husband, my good lad... Thank ye for trusting me with this. Thank ye, loveys… Thank ye…”


	33. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supper time for the boys <3

The spanking was barely half of his usual one for breaking a rule, but taking it in front of his baby boy had balanced that up. Ronea had never been spanked like that in front of Juice, or anyone. Sure, Filip had spanked him a few times when they’d played with others in the past, but that had never been about an actual punishment. This time, Ronea had taken his discipline in front of his own submissive partner which was a change the homemaker hoped wouldn’t be standard procedure. It had helped though and as always, his loving, patient and strong husband had guided him through every moment with the utmost respect and care, leaving Ronea feeling so good albeit a little shaky afterwards.   
  
Ronea now made a simple but rich evening meal that would have to do instead of the planned dinner because there was just no way in hell he’d start on a lasagna now. Sandwiches with cold meat and sallad, tea and semolina porridge with red currant jam and almond milk would do just fine and the homemaker was grateful for a bit of alone time in the kitchen while Juice cuddled with Filip. Their baby boy had been in awe after watching the spanking, like he’d actually grasped the amount of love and respect his Daddy had for Papi as well as how submission looked when it was given with a willing heart.  
  
Filip had decided they should talk so talk they would, but not before they’d had something to eat. Ronea was submissive, not a puppet, and had immediately veto’d any heavy talking until after dinner. Of course, Filip had indulged him without question and it was a bit funny to see Juice trying to figure out exactly when his Papi had gone from the completely obedient and regretful husband, back to his usual, almost bossy way.  
  
Ronea knew all too well how devestating it was to receive a punishment coming from a need from the one doling it out for having his or her way. To display power and control, to humiliate and put a stop to what they viewd as a transgression. Very often, the transgression with that kind of people, was the fact that their kid or submissive partner simply spoke their mind. The ruling itself was the essential part, to be obeyed and feel omnipotent even if it was only at home. That was about as far from Filip Telford as one could come.  
  
With the table set, Ronea lit some candles as well and called for his boys. They both looked surprisingly alert and Juice was still clinging onto Filip a bit. As he sat down, it was clear he felt his smarting bottom even if the diaper provided with some padding and Ronea kissed his forehead before serving the porridge.  
  
“You’re hungry, baby boy?”  
“Actually, yes, Papi.”  
  
Juice sounded almost surprised and Filip smiled.  
  
“Yer Papi’s food often have tha’ effect on people, lovey.”  
  
His baby boy dug into the porridge with what Ronea could only describe as gusto, not even clutching his tummy or visibly tensing. He did however pull a knee up onto his chest and Ronea had but to exchange a look wih Filip to know both of them drew the same conclusion. It wasn’t bad table manners but Juice’s way of keeping himself grounded, which was a more than acceptable excuse, especially since he did eat in a normal, healthy way, neither rushing himself nor picking at his food.   
  
Ronea lifted the tea pot.  
  
“Some tea, Filip?”  
“Aye, thank ye, dear.”  
“What about you, Juice?”  
“Think I wanna finish my porridge first, thanks, Papi.”  
“You liked it?”  
  
Juice nodded, having finished more than half his portion.  
  
“Uh-huh. Never had it before, Papi. ‘S really nice.”  
  
And no doubt nice to his strained stomach as well. It didn’t seem like the boy was actually uncomfortable sitting down even though he’d had a real and quite hard punishment spanking. The effect from the ginger was most certainly gone by now, especially since Juice had gotten a shot of aloe, but his buttocks would be sore for a while.  
  
But most of all, his baby boy seemed truly calm. Juice hadn’t been ready to go back being the still submissive but also properly adult person he truly was. He was still too anxious and insecure, in need of much more help than any of them had realised. What Ronea silently guessed now as he saw his young lover so relaxed again, was that they’d have to plan Juice’s recovery and way back to a more independent situation a lot more careful and detailed.  
  
A strict schedule would be a good help, with each restrain, curfew and rule properly grounded within all three of them. Just having Filip put his foot down wouldn’t do and neither would going back to a less independent situation without any real plan of moving forward. Returning to this very vulnerable state, adding childlike things in order to make Juice able to accept help, couldn’t go on forever, but the transition had to be done in smaller steps where each and everone was designed as to give Juice enough safety for him to truly start giving voice to his deeper needs.  
  
Filip wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of his tea.  
  
“Juice?”  
“Yes, Daddy?”  
“We’re gonnae have some changes for a while an’ so I ask ye now, tha’ ye’ll do yer very best to really listen to Daddy’s decisions an’ let me explain them properly to ye, before ye start arguing.”  
“I-I’ll try, Daddy.”  
“Good boy.”  
  
Juice did look worried though and Filip took his hand.  
  
“I can see ye’re a wee bit anxious, lovey. Can ye please tell Daddy righ’ away ‘bout wha’ ye’re feeling?”  
“S’ just difficult to… promise not to get upset, Daddy.”  
“Darlin’, I’m not telling ye what to feel, I only ask tha’ ye, rather than letting emotions take over again, try an’ simply tell me if ye’re starting to feel upset.”    
“C-can I ask for something now, Daddy?”  
“Of course, lovey.”  
“A-and you too, Papi.”  
“Certainly, baby boy.”  
  
Juice took a deep breath, but he did meet both his lover’s eyes.  
  
“I… I’d like to sit on Papi’s lap while we talk. Please?”


	34. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice finally gets talking about serious stuff.

“Now, I know tha’ neither o’ ye feel good about having our routines changed, but I’m doing my best to make this as easy for ye as possible, alright? An’ for me too, of course.”  
  
Daddy’s slightly teasing smile had Papi chuckle a little and Juice smiled a bit too. Then Daddy looked serious.  
  
“These last days have made it more than clear tha’ our previous plan on how an’ when ye’d go back to a more independent life, dinnae fall out as we’d hoped for, Juicy. Ye agree with me on tha’, Ronea?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Wha’ ‘bout ye, Juicy? How do ye feel ‘bout the plan?”  
  
Juice didn’t have his pacifier now, so he took to clutching Papi’s hand instead.  
  
“At first it… seemed really good, Daddy. I mean, it’s a good plan.”  
“But is it good for _ye_ , Juicy?”  
“Uhm… Yeah, but maybe… maybe not right now.”  
“Can ye elaborate tha’ a lil’ further?”  
“You already know, Daddy.”  
“But I’d still like to hear about it in _yer_ words, lil’ one.”  
  
Daddy sounded firm, but absolutely not harsh and Papi stroke Juice’s belly. It was calming and Juice sighed.  
  
“It’s… too much for me, Daddy. That morning when I went to work again… I knew it would feel a little strange being back, you know, and being around other people. I mean, we talked so much about it, I thought I was prepared.”  
“An’ then tha’ feeling changed?”  
“Yeah… It was so awful, all of it.”  
  
He shook his head, recalling the day that was supposed to be one of progress but turned into utter chaos and so much anxiety.  
  
“Thought it would feel nice, going back to computors again. Working with codes instead of feelings, I guess. And I like Elle, even though we’re not that close. Felt so… grown up all of a sudden, back in shirt and tie and people smiling like… Like I’d been back from a vaccation or a stupid flu. No one had a clue and it’s not as if I wanted anyone to know, but it just felt so fucked up.”  
  
Papi stroked his arm.  
  
“From the moment you came into the office, how long did it take for that feeling to come, baby boy?”  
  
Juice shrugged.  
  
“Actually not sure, Papi. But I remember feeling more and more… messy as the day went on. The noises and smells and all the people… I’ve never _liked_ it, Papi, but that day I just wanted to run away and hide in the bathroom. Needed air an’ to be alone, but not _alone_ alone, just… It felt like all that energy I had when I left home, was gone and like I’d never… I don’t know… feel good again. God, sounds so stupid when I say it…”  
“No, baby boy, it’s not stupid. Go on, sweetheart.”  
“I came out…”  
  
Both his lovers nodded now and Daddy gave a slightly sad smile.  
  
“Do ye remember how it felt, lovey?”  
“Well…”  
  
His stomach felt unruly again and Juice clutched it a little.  
  
“It’s alright, Juicy. I know it feels really scary to talk about it, lad, but it’s safe, I promise. We’re not judging feelings an’ we wannae hear ye talk to us ‘bout wha’ ye’re thinking an’ feeling. No shame, lovey.”  
  
It was so difficult to form words, but Papi massaged his tummy lightly now and Daddy’s voice was so warm and gentle. Juice took a deep breath, closing his eyes and bent in closer to Papi's shoulder.  
  
“I… I felt so _disgusting_. And like I had no… no safe place. Was thinking how you’d hate me and make me leave because I didn’t think before I spoke.”  
“Were ye worried ‘bout being punished, Juicy?”  
“No. I mean, I wasn’t thinking that you’d spank me. I-I was certain you’d never spank or do anything else to or with me ever again. Hated myself for… for ruining yet another relationship. And for not handling my work, like in feeling like I didn’t belong there.”  
“It sounds very chaotic an’ painful, lovey.”  
  
Juice shook his head in what, if he had seen himself, looked like sad amazement.  
  
“I had _no idea_ I could shift so fast… Fuck, I can’t even explain what it really felt like, ‘cause it was so fucking chaotic. And then I had a binge…”  
“Ye remember tha’ ye started to call me Mr. Telford when I found ye?”  
“No… God, I… I must’ve blanked that out, Daddy.”  
“Do ye remember anything ‘bout how ye felt when I found ye?”  
“Only that, when you hugged me, I didn’t understand why you did that.”  
“Ye were surprised tha’ I hugged ye, darlin’?”  
“Yes…”  
“Why, lovey?”  
  
His head almost hurt from the thoughts, like they were pressing onto his skull like some huge, dangerous tumors.  
   
“Cause… in that moment… I was preparing for… for you and Papi to leave me.”


	35. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy rules, literally^^

Chaos and fear was the main theme and as his brave lad talked about his feelings, it became more clear to Filip that Juice, even on good meds and living with people who loved him, needed a much stricter routine than now. Clear rules and guidelines, regular spankings for both reprimands and emotional relief with absolutely _no_ sexual situations what so ever.  
  
This would mean a lot of work for all three of them, especially Ronea, who would have to be a stay at home Papi as well as homemaker for a while. Another medical note for Juice was necessary and although Filip thought of himself as a law-abiding citizen, having Wendy Case “improve” Juice’s sick note a little, was a favour he felt completely justified asking for. Feeling humiliated in a safe and loving way, may have been a way more crucial part in Juice’s recovery than any of them had realised and if that’s what would make Filip’s young lover feel good, strong and happy, then that’s what he’d get.  
  
Drawing up the new rules made Filip feel much better himself, now that they all had a more clear view on the issue. Juice, who was snuggling with Papi in the livingroom again, needed stability and a predictable, safe environment with people he trusted. That meant a fulltime home-life with Papi during the days and of course calm, homey nights with both his lovers. No work, no seeing friends yet and no time outside home save for the garden or an occasional ride to some secluded place in the nature with his Daddies, of course.   
  
It was a tricky rule and Filip added a timeline to it, to make sure Juice would be able to see for himself that it was only a temporary arrangement until he felt a little more stable. Sure, Juice didn’t really have any close friends outside work, but restricting a partner’s social life was tipping dangerously close to abusive control and it would be extremely important to make Juice aware of the difference between a temporary rest from social life and a ban on seeing friends.  
  
In all sense, Juice would be treated very much like a small child for a couple of weeks. He’d be changed, bathed, dressed and fed. He’d always use a nappy, get treated with numbing cream every day to prevent sexual stimulation and have early bedtime. No adult tv, movies or books. He’d wear onesies, but not in children’s pattern or color. Plain, simple and comfortable, hopefully making it easier for his poor mind to settle again.  
  
Another important thing was physical activity and relaxation. Juice got so increadibly tense from even relatively small panic attacks, so apart from daily baths and lots of cuddles, he’d also need massages, gentle exercise and some kind of active stress management, like yoga. Food, unfortunately, would get quite boring, but gruel, purée and nutritious soups would serve the purpose of easing the stress that so often went straight to Juice’s poor stomach.   
  
Cuddly nighttime routines were, of course, a given, and Filip would also ask Wendy Case to consider an additional small dose of sleeping pills for a limited period of time as well as a temporarily sedative to have an hour or two before bedtime, so that Juice could relax better.   
  
All of the daily routines would be on a board for all of them to see and follow. Juice would have his own, with more colors, the timeline really clear and easy to hold onto, so that their lil’ one could prepare for new steps and gradually feel more controlled.   
  
Filip made a list of things to buy and was so deep into his work, he didn’t hear Ronea entering and his husband grinned when Filip almost jumped.  
  
“Someone’s deep into his thoughts…”  
“Sorry, I dinnae mean to abandon ye by the telly.”  
  
Ronea put his arms around Filip’s neck and kissed his head.  
  
“Looks like you’ve gotten a lot of work done, baby.”  
“Aye. Not sure how ye two will like it, though.”  
“It’s not important whether we like it or not, but if it makes us feel better in the end. Even if I get frustrated sometimes, I truly love it when you take over and do what’s best for us.”  
  
Filip gave him another kiss, this time on his lips.  
  
“This will require a lot of hard work for both of us, darlin’. An’ Juice, most of all, but in a different way, of course. Essentially, I’m making a plan with main focus on teaching Juice how to handle a more or less complete loss of control.”  
  
He explained the basics of his thoughts and instead of looking questioning or distrustful, Ronea just nodded slowly.  
  
“I know this is one of the non-negotiable decisions, Filip, but I do have a request.”  
“Tell me, lovey.”  
“I’m gonna spend most of my time being something akin to an actual caretaker now, helping Juice to ‘grow down and back up again’, so to speak.”  
“True.”  
“Well, that means I’ve gotta get some time outside, both alone and with friends too, or I’ll go crazy.”  
  
Filip smiled.  
  
“That all, darlin’? I promise ye, we’ll have both alone time an’ date nights. An’ I’ll stay at home looking after Juice if ye’re going to the pub or have some coffee with friends or go shopping.”  
“And if I call you at work, panicking because Juice is driving me to tears and I feel like the world is crashing down on me as well?”  
“Then I’ll come home as soon as I can, to deal with the mayhem.”  
“How about therapy?”  
“Ye mean for Juice?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well, he needs it, of course, but not yet. Adding therapy to all of this we might as well have him go to a locked ward for a while instead.”  
  
Ronea nodded.  
  
“I think you’re right, baby. He’s just too chaotic right now. I really like your idea with the clear steps and making them more visual to him. Therapy will most likely be needed later on, but first I think he just needs to experience a little time with complete caretaking.”


	36. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. New times start smoothly, sort of...

“Are you sure, baby boy? This part is completely your choise to make, you know.”  
“Please, Papi? Jus’ do it, please?”  
  
He’d braced himself, prepared for tears, protests and negotiations, but when Filip had told Juice about his plan, explaining all the parts that went from slightly uncomfortable to burning humiliation and absolute loss of control, albeit temporary, the boy seemed more relieved than worried. Their lover would be babified for real, even if it was only for a limited time, and when they’d all signed the temporary agreement, Ronea had taken Juice upstairs for a bath.  
  
His baby boy was already hairless between his legs and now Ronea carefully shaved his legs, arms and armpits as well. The smooth bottom was, of course, red and sore and Juice whined a little on the changing pad.  
  
“Hurts, Papi. Juice’s butt hurts.”  
“I know, baby boy. Naughty boys will get red bottoms in this house.”  
“Juice was naughty, Papi.”  
“Yes, you were, but now you’re such a good boy again, aren’t you, sweetheart?”  
“Juice will be a good boy, Papi.”  
“I know you will, my little love.”  
  
When Juice was hairless all over, save for his head and eyebrows, Ronea dried him off and got him lotion before putting back the chastity ring. The numbing lotion did a good job on Juice’s cock, but Filip had decided on chastity too, so chastity it was. A fresh diaper came next and then sweats and a tanktop. Ronea kissed his nose.  
  
“Tomorrow, you’ll have a new wardrobe, baby boy. Temporarily, of course. We’d never ever get rid of any of your things.”  
“I know, Papi.”  
  
Juice actually seemed perfectly fine, at least for the moment, and Ronea pulled him up from the changing mat.  
  
“Time for bed, sweetheart.”  
“But I’m not tired, Papi.”  
“Yes, you are, baby boy, and you’re gonna behave now and obey your Papi, or you’ll get a bedtime spanking.”  
“Juice is maybe a little tired, Papi…”  
“That’s what I thought. Come on.”  
  
The bedroom was already prepared with the nightlamp lightened and an extra warm blanket added to the middle of the bed. Ronea helped his exhausted baby boy to snuggle down and even before Filip had joined them for a cuddle, Juice was fast asleep.


	37. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice puts Papi to the test.

Daddy had become unmistakably more strict during the last four days and Juice felt an equal lust for rebellion and obedience. The routine wasn’t fun in the slightest and even though he’d agreed to let go and on some level knew it was exactly what he needed, it was a struggle.  
  
For a start, there were no tv, no movies and no gaming. Instead, there were puzzles, soothing music and fairytales. Every pore in his body firmly boiled with the humiliation that the numbing cream and chastity ring effectively blocked any physical outlet for. Secondly, he had to wear huge _onesies_. Sure, they were adult versions and really comfy, but still! And thirdly, the routine was really strict and _boring_.   
  
Every morning he was washed and changed, dressed in a comfortable but still humiliating onesie, got fed by Papi and then had to promise Daddy to be a good boy and obey Papi. Like _that_ would happen. Having to stick to being read fairytales and then make a ridiculous exercise routine before getting changed and then lay down on a fucking mat with cuddly toys to rest until lunchtime, was as painful as it was pleasant. Not fun at all, but… safe. Wonderfully, shamefully safe.  
  
Lunch was healthy, which meant boring, and although Juice didn’t spit it out, he often whined which usually lead to Papi showing with markers on the whiteboard, how close to a spanking Juice was.   
  
The first time he got a spanking from Papi, happened on day three at lunch. Instead of finishing his pea and broccoli mash, Juice had gotten irritated with it and grabbed the spoon from Papi’s hand before actually throwing the last of the green mash in the man’s face. While Juice was laughing, Papi most definitely wasn’t, and he calmly wiped himself clean and then removed the bowl and spoon before making another marking at the whiteboard.  
  
“That was _very_ naughty, Juice, and as you can see on the board, you’ve earned yourself a spanking.”  
“Papi doesn’t spank.”  
“Yes, he does. Or have you forgotten about Daddy’s new rule? If you’ve earned yourself a spanking before lunchtime is over and he’s not at home, I’ll be the one giving it. You need a diaper change first?”  
“No thank you, Papi.”  
  
Juice was beginning to feel nervous. Papi spanking him? That just didn’t seem right at all. Or fair. Papi, however, took his hand and lead him upstairs, grabbed one of his brushes from his dresser and sat down on the bed, patting his lap.   
  
“You were naughty, Juice, and you know the drill. Unbotton your onesie and pull your diaper down, please.”  
  
Papi wasn’t kidding. Up until now, Juice honestly believed Papi wouldn’t go through with his threat and he couldn’t help but giving the man a worried look. Papi didn’t look angry but he shook his head.  
  
“Juice, you’re not getting out of this unless you want to wait until Daddy comes home, which means earning yourself more spankings for not obeying Papi. You want that?”  
“No, Papi.”  
“Then I suggest you get yourself over here pronto.”  
  
Juice loosened his onesie, struggling a little but Papi was patient and helped arranging it. Scooting down the diaper came next and Juice carefully bent over Papi’s lap. It felt different than Daddy’s, but just as firm and the strong arms pulled him close.   
  
“Laying steady, kiddo?”  
“Yes, Papi.”  
  
Papi lightly touched his buttocks with the brush, preparing him, and Juice took a deep breath, anticipating the first strike.  
  
Daddy might be the one doing the spankings in this house, but _fucking hell_ , Papi was good with that brush. Far too good, in Juice’s opinion and he was soon crying and right out whining.  
  
“P-please, Papi, I’m sorry! M’ sorry, alright!”  
  
He got a good twenty strikes with the brush, alternated between his buttocks and cried a lot more than he’d expected to. When Papi stopped, Juice thought his lover would lecture him, but just as Daddy, Papi arranged them on the bed for a cuddle, holding him close.  
  
“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I love you so much, baby boy, and I never wanna have to do that again to you.”  
“S-sorry for throwing f-food at you, Papi. Was a brat…”  
“Yes, you were, but you’re _my_ brat and I forgive you. Why on Earth did you do it, though?”  
“I… I don’t know, Papi.”  
“That’s not a good answer, Juicy, and you know it.”  
  
Juice sniffled into his chest.  
  
“No, really, Papi, I honestly don’t know. It was… fun, I guess.”  
  
Now Papi moved a little to look at him. His eyes were so kind, nothing but love and care there, and his smile almost impish.   
  
“Well, _that_ was a really good, honest answer, baby boy.”  
  
He wiped Juice’s cheeks with his thumbs, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.  
  
“We’re gonna go back down now and you’re gonna finish your lunch like a good boy, unless you want Daddy to bring out the ginger tonight.”  
  
Juice shook his head fiercly and Papi smirked.  
  
“I didn’t think so either, baby boy. I know this is difficult for you, but I also know you can do it and that you’ll come back to your old self again, as long as you allow yourself the time and means to heal properly. You understand me, sweetheart?”  
“Yes, Papi.”  
“Good. I love you, you know that, right?”  
“Uh-huh. Love you too, Papi.” 


	38. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much needed Papi/Daddy time.

His lil’ one was asleep, early as usual these days, and Filip’s husband had just finished up in the kitchen after dinner. Filip was tired after a long day at work and when he got home he’d spanked Juice who’d already had his very first round over Ronea’s lap and was still meek from that experience.   
  
It had been a calm evening, thank God, and Juice was drowsy and content, needy for closeness of course, but all in all, being spanked by Papi didn’t seem to make the lad feel confused or worried. After his spanking and dinner, Juice just wanted to be cuddled and soon his eyes had started to drop. Filip and Ronea had put him to bed together, changing him and tucking him in, singing and cooing him the way the poor lad had never had in his childhood. It was a calm and safe Juicyboy who fell asleep on his Papi’s chest that night.  
  
The Papi in question looked exhausted but Filip knew better than to interrupt his housework routine. His husband needed to settle his kitchen down for the night as well, a little ritual that was calming for the homemaker and Filip kept him company, sipping on a night cap and chuckling at the description of a spoonful of mashed veggies in Ronea’s face.  
  
“Maybe peas do wonders for yer complexion, lovey?”  
  
Ronea laughed too, shaking his head where the ponytail had loosened up, leaving several strains of hair around his beautiful face.  
  
“You have no idea how hard it was not to laugh, Filip. Had to hide in the bathroom and choke on my robe later on. I wasn’t prepared at all and he was just as surprised. Like ‘did I really just do that’ and oh, my God, he looked so _pleased_ with himself. I should have some fucking medal for not just crying out laughing.”  
“I don’ even think he was tha’ regretful about it.”  
“Me neither.”  
  
Ronea finished wiping the countertop, rinsed the rag and hung it to dry over the tap. His movements were a little stiff and Filip forsaked his drink to walk up and hug him, nuzzling the crook of his neck.  
  
“Please, lovey, tell me ye’ve been good husband today.”  
“Aren’t I always? I thought I was your favourite husband.”  
“Oh, aye, absolutely.”  
“And yes, I’ve been good, baby.”  
“Thank God, ‘cause I’m really not in the mood for spanking ye.”  
“Not even for relaxation?”  
“I don’ think a spanking would do the trick righ’ now, lovey.”  
“No?”  
“Nah. How ‘bout I get a fire going an’ give ye a backrub, huh?”  
“But… You’ve worked all day, baby.”  
“Aye, an’ now I’d like nothing more than to take care o’ my man.”  
“Are you sure? I mean…”  
“Please, lovey? Go get the table.”  
  
He stroke Ronea’s chest.  
  
“Unless ye’re not up for a backrub, of course. But if ye decline because ye think I’m too tired or tha’ ye don’ deserve it or some other shite, I’m afraid I have to insist on it, Mr. Telford-Tully.”  
“Well… if you absolutely _insist_ , Mr. Telford…”  
“I do.”  
“Oh, poor me, having to abide by such harsh rules. What a hard life I live, being a sub… But I guess I better obey…”  
“Or ye’ll end up with more backrubs.”  
“That would be really troublesome.”  
  
They both laughed now and Ronea pinched his hip.  
  
“Get that fire going, baby. I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta powder my nose.”  
  
Filip pecked his lips and went off to the livingroom. He hoped Juice wouldn’t wake up now because they really needed some time on their own, doing something else than talking about their lover or dealing with discipline matters. He lit a fire and some candles and then went to the pantry where Ronea also kept a little stash of homemade massage oils.   
  
Using a small tripod of the kind one used in chemistry lessons and a cupper jug, Filip warmed some of the eucalyptus and peppermint oil over the fire and rubbed his hands a bit to get rid of any unpleasant coldness.  
  
Ronea returned with the table, some towels and his hair in a small, messy bun. He’d even washed his make-up off and wore a black, kneelong skirt hanging losely on his hips. It was a sight that honestly gave Filip a wee bit shaky knees, even after all this time. Ronea’s smile was almost shy as he set the table up, spread one of the towels out on it and laid down.   
  
They didn’t talk, the only sounds were the sparkling fire, their small movements and the soft clink from the tripod and cupper jug as Filip poured some warm oil over his husband’s back. Using long, slow movements, Filip started by just warming up the awfully tense muscles. Thankfully, that amount of tension had been an anomali for many years now and neither of them had to wonder why it was there now. Taking care of Juice was stressful and Ronea did it fulltime.  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ …”  
  
Ronea moaned as Filip discovered knots practically all over his back, but he knew how to breathe against the pain and the joints and muscles cracked in a good way, having Ronea chuckling through his groans.  
  
“Fuck, I’m so _old_!”  
“Oh, thanks for making _me_ feel ancient.”  
“You’re a Scot, baby. _Jeeesus_ , what did you find there?! As I said… you’re a Scot and your people are aging with… grace, unlike… us Ohio white trash.”  
“Aye, tha’ must be thanks to our healthy drinkin’ habits, fresh food culture an’ fine weather.”  
“That’s what makes… a mighty fine man…”  
  
Filip could name a lot of things that made a mighty fine man. The strenght to rise again and again being one of them and something his husband did like no one else Filip knew of. Maybe the strenght to bend and let himself be carried, was the biggest of them all. So few people, especially men, were able to do that and with Ronea’s past, the amount of trust he’d developed for Filip was truly incredible.  
  
The pale skin glistened from the oil and the old scars didn’t hurt anymore but Filip still got a lump in his throat seeing them so utterly displayed in the light from the fire and candles.  
  
“Ye’re feeling alright, lovey?”  
“I’m gonna start drooling any second… There’s a risk you’ll have to carry me to bed or just leave me by the fire like some beached whale…”  
  
His husband’s smooth body wasn’t as lean as it had been, but Filip secretly liked that. Not just because it would’ve felt a little disturbing if he’d been the only one gaining weight and loose some of his good looks, but because the more chunky Ronea with colorful face and soft hands was a farcry from the skinny, skittish man with hollow cheeks and cold fingers he’d once been.  
  
The first time Filip had given him a proper backrub, had been after several tries with professional massage therapists that only seemed to make Ronea more tense. One time he’d even come back crying. It was only then Filip realised that maybe it wasn’t the therapists that were bad at their job, but his husband who didn’t feel comfortable with strangers touching him.  
  
After taking a course in massage, in secret, Filip had bought Ronea the massage table as an anniversery gift and that night he’d given his slightly suspicious, quite curious and extremely tense husband a treatment that may not have solved his back problems, but definitely started to ease them.  
  
Still, so many years later, Filip touched his husband with reverence in moments like these. There were no more bruises, no new cuts or signs of either some arsehole’s fists or self-inflicted pain. Seeing and touching the whitening scars no longer reminded Filip of self-hatred, but survival and healing. The nape looked so fragile, making a cracking sound as Filip went to work on the long, stiff muscles, eliciting a pleased moan from Ronea as the spine popped back into a neutral position.  
  
He slipped down to the band of the skirt, revealing the lack of panties underneath and Filip felt himself hardening.  
  
“No shorts or panties, lovey? Ye naughty thing…”  
“Couldn’t risk getting massage oil on them, now could I?”  
“Of course not, silly me.”  
“If you want a piece of my ass, it’s all yours, baby. Just sayin’…”  
“Not until ye’re relaxed, lovey. Breathe.”  
“I am.”  
“Deeper.”  
“Christ, you’re demanding.”  
“Aye, being married to me is a hard life.”  
“Terribly, baby. Terribly.”


	39. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More needs to take care of^^

Was it sappy and clichéd? Probably and Ronea couldn’t care less. They’d moved down to the floor on the mattress and sheet they kept hidden under the couch and Ronea simply let himself be heavy, resting as Filip deepened the kiss. The fire was still going, the air was filled with the scent of herbs from massage oils and Ronea’s cock made a visible tent on the front of his skirt.   
  
He widened himself to let Filip slide down between his thighs, moaning as their still clothed cocks came together. His husband kept a slow rhythm, grinding and rubbing while Ronea’s skirt started to become messy, precum dampening the front from both sides.   
  
His previous little teasing was gone now and with the relaxation from the massage buzzling inside his body, Ronea felt how layers from another form of strain came off. He was Juice’s top and he loved it, but the very core of Ronea’s being was longing for submission, always had been and laying underneath his strong, dominant husband, just feeling the weight of him, the gentle man who loved him and stood by his side no matter what, turned Ronea into a wreck of arousal.  
  
It was Filip who lead, Filip who undressed and removed towels, Filip who held him so that he could just lean back and rest on his arm. Ronea put his own arms around Filip’s neck, not to pull him down but as if to hold on for dear life. He didn’t have to control a thing now, he could just let himself be seduced, filled and bent so softly in all the ways his husband knew he loved. Filip leaned down to nibble his ear, then his throat, lingering by the small dimple between his collarbones. Ronea mewled, dizzy with need as his nipples were gently sucked on, one at the time pulled at and turning into hard, rosy little nubs. He couldn’t hold back a groan.  
  
“Baby… please…”  
  
Ronea didn’t quite know what he pleaded for, the begging simply became a vital organ of it’s own, much like his throbbing cock, knowing nothing about shame, fear, composure or control. In the back of his lust-stricken mind, he recalled that his itching ass was sore because his husband had him, because Ronea wanted to obey him so badly, to give up control and just feel completely owned. A need he sometimes couldn’t even find the beginning nor the end of, it was just there, a constant, like a second heart just beat, beat, beating the same, neverending rhythm: cradle me in your arms, protect me and love me, make me _need_ to call for you and only you…  
  
“Fuck me… Baby, please, just fuck me… I need you in me… Need you so badly…”  
  
His plead was drenched in his own mist of uncontrolled yet completely safe mess of incoherent thoughts and feelings and he barely heard the raspy whisper from the mouth scraping against his cheek.  
  
“Ye want yer husbands cock tha’ bad, baby? Feelin’ all empty in tha’ tight, male lil’ pussy o’ yers, aight?”  
  
Ronea almost choked on a growl, grabbing his cock by the base to starve the feeling that threatened to take over and finish it all too quickly. He panted in the bend of Filip’s arm, all but whining now.  
  
“N-need your big cock in my… my male pussy… Filling me up…”  
“Gonnae cum inside ye, lovey… No one’s cumming inside my lil’ husband’s pussy but me, aint tha’ right, baby?”  
“Yes… God, yes, just… just you, baby… Fuck!”  
  
His mindless blabbering ended with the sudden intrusion of a slick syringe and the dripping sensation from his hole down his puckered perineum. He tossed his head back, almost mad with the built up sensations and then Filip finally, fucking finally entered him, just teasingly and slowly, Ronea couldn’t bear it anymore and scissored his legs around his husband’s waist, mindlessly pulling him in.  
  
While the build-up motions had been slow, this was a hard, unyielding pumping, hitting his prostrate with every thrust and sending his raw nerve ends fucking short-circuit from need. Ronea couldn’t talk anymore, only whimper, growl and claw at Filip’s back, sobbing like there was no tomorrow, any control of his body gone.  
  
“Can’t… can’t hold it… Jesus Christ, Filip, I can’t… Can’t…”  
“Don’ hold it, lovey… C’mere, darlin’…”  
  
He was scooped up in Filip’s arms, his pelvis and thighs pressed down firmly, his husband’s weight anchoring him and without a single touch to his cock, Ronea came hard, spilling over in short pulses, his hypersensitive hole constricting around the thick, throbbing fullness. He was clenching out his orgasm, spasming and shaking, not really knowing if he was making any noises, only feeling Filip filling him, claiming him again as he’d done thousands of times before.  
  
By the time his husband was softening inside him, Ronea felt like he’d gained twohundred pounds and was soon to be breaking the floor and fall down to whatever ground the house stood on. Lead in his joints, even his hair seemed heavy.  
  
“I think… your cum makes me fat…”  
“Wha’?”  
“I’ve gained like… fourhundred pounds since we started fucking, ‘cause I can’t fucking move… You have lead cum…”  
  
Filip started laughing, a little breathy and tired, with an incredulous look on his face and then he laughed some more, gave Ronea a sloppy kiss and laid down on top of him, resting his head onto Ronea’s chest. Filip’s hair was a bit damp and he stroke it back, sighing.  
  
“Bloody hell, I needed tha’…”  
“Me too. Love you, old man…”  
“Love ye too, _mo chridhe_...”*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gaelish for my heart


	40. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice slowly begins to settle.

He wasn’t really awake, only partly and from the crevices of his eyes, he caught a sleep mudded view of his lovers by the dresser. Daddy was unlocking Papi’s thin necklace, handing it to him and then he started to brush Papi’s hair. No lamp was lightened except for the small nightlamp by the window and a candle on the dresser, throwing shadows on the walls and floor, reflecting in the mirror.  
  
Papi’s face looked weary, but he was smiling and his cheeks were rosy. Daddy was doting on him, carefully undoing knots and tangles in his black hair. Papi wore a long, grey tanktop with thin straps, almost like a short nightgown and Daddy his usual pajama pants and old tanktop. Juice could see the contours of it all, of the two men he loved so much. Papi shuddered a little and Daddy immediately reached for an old cardigan, draping it around him. They weren’t talking, just slowly and silently getting ready for bed and the mechanic rough hands who combed the long hair were doing it like it was the most important thing they’d done all day.  
  
Juice closed his eyes. Now as he had the image, he didn’t need to keep them open. Just hearing the small, low sounds of his lover’s bedtime routine. A jar getting opened, meaning Papi was getting some lotion on his face and hands. Daddy putting his Tibetan wooden prayer necklace on his nightstand along with the rosary he always had in his pocket. Soft steps and pouring water, the sound of toothbrushs and finally, lights out in the hallway and bathroom, a shifting first on Papi’s, then Daddy’s side of the bed.  
  
A hand on his forehead, checking that he wasn’t feverish, then gentle strokes over his hair and a small whine slipped Juice’s lips.  
  
“T’is jus’ Daddy, lil’ one. Go back to sleep, lovey, Daddy an’ Papi are here...”  
  
Shushing, Daddy’s loving voice, the warmth of his body, soft and protective. Juice bumped up his butt onto him, then snuggling his face onto Papi’s chest, sucking on his pacifier to soothe himself some more. Then, before he had any chance to registrate anything else, he fell back to sleep.  
  
Juice slept well through the night and when morning came and he saw that Papi’s side of the bed was empty, he started squirming a little in Daddy’s arms.  
  
“Daddy…? Daddy…?”  
“Good mornin’ to ye too, kiddo.”  
“I’m wet, Daddy.”  
  
Daddy yawned and pulled Juice closer in a proper hug.  
  
“I’ll change ye, lovey. Ye slept well?”  
“Yes, Daddy. All night. But now I’m sticky.”  
  
Daddy chuckled, kissed his crown and then sat up, stretching his arms.  
  
“Then lets get ye clean an’ dry, kiddo.”  
  
It was still embarressing, but it didn’t feel quite the same. As Juice laid down on the changing mat, the longing for a dry, clean diaper was way more prominent than the shame of being treated as a baby. He grabbed his toes, widening himself properly and enjoyed being washed and cared for. Daddy cleaned his penis – it did, for some reason, not feel quite right thinking about it as a cock right now – and bum thoroughly, dried him and gave a shot of aloe, then the numbing cream and finally some baby power.  
  
Safe. That’s how it felt when Daddy slid a fresh diaper underneath him and bundled him up. He shaved Juice’s face, of course. Baby boys this small didn’t have stubble and Juice closed his eyes,  savoring the treatment. Getting dressed in t-shirt and onesie felt just as good and then Daddy actually carried him downstairs for breakfast.  
  
Almond gruel wasn’t as nice as porridge, but Juice didn’t want to make a fuss now. Papi and Daddy had scrambled eggs on toast, orange juice and coffee and that was just how it was right now. Daddy had explained that food would be different for a while and that Juice would have the same as him and Papi when his tummy felt better. Refusing to eat for any other reason than a medical one, physical or mental, was naughty behavior and meant spanking and corner time.  
  
Corner time was not fun, because that meant having to sit and actually think of what he’d done, even if he wasn’t left alone in the room. Daddy and Papi didn’t believe in leaving him alone for the moment. There should always be someone in the room with him during the days, even if he was napping. Transitioning to a really babylike state was not easy and included a lot of tantrums Juice honestly couldn’t remember ever having as an actual baby. He’d been a quiet child very early on, rarely screaming, but unusually clingy. At least that’s what his foster home records said.  
  
Clingy or not, cuddles had been an anomali in his childhood and eventually he’d stopped searching for bodily comfort since it was so rarely offered and more often than not taken away. Now he had all the closeness he could wish for, from two people, and there was a huge void to fill.  
  
Papi, being the clever and eccentric person he was, one day took to make an actual baby sling in adult size, using a very strong fabric and add special support for Juice’s leg and amazingly, it worked. Juice thought he’d feel too embarressed with it, but while he truly felt humiliated at first, it also felt so increadibly good being that close to Papi.  
  
The sling was often used after lunch, so that Papi could do the dishes before nap time and Juice loved it. He was with his Papi, not left alone, and could rest on his shoulder and more often than not, Juice fell asleep like that and woke up just the same, only in the couch. Papi didn’t remove the sling until nap time was over and the feeling of safety and love from being so close, made waking up from it just as comfortable and cradled as drowsing off.  
  
If needed to, Papi changed him and then it was time for something Juice initially found completely unnecessary and just stupid. Papi would lay him down on what was essentially a soft play mat and made him stretch and roll around. The stretching part was one thing, but having to do this weird moving like a baby just seemed pointless. Afterwards, Papi took him in his lap on floor and massaged his hands and fingers, then his feet and toes. He’d use softening cream on Juice’s rough and slightly wounded hands, rub each joint, knuckle and cutical and that was when Juice discovered that what he’d thought was normal soreness and coldness, was tension and bad circulation that could be fixed.  
  
They’d go outside afterwards, sitting on the backporch and have a bottle of fruit soup while Papi read to him. Brambly Hedge, Peter Rabbit and Winnie The fucking Pooh. It took a few days for Juice to accept this extension of babying, because it was boring and a little too childish, but the timeline Daddy had made was clear: Juice was to remain in a babyfied state for at least a couple of weeks, end of discussion.  
  
What Juice was still too exhausted and confused to see, was how these rules and boundaries with so much predictability and close to no room for surprises, were like a longterm spa treatment for his braincells. He didn’t have to think, plan or control anything. He wasn’t bothered with a sex drive, the food didn’t challenge his stomach what so ever and he was unable to keep any kind of control when he got spanked.  
  
Spankings were a little bit different too. Twice a day, which would’ve been impossible if things were more normal, but Daddy had made a new arrangement. In the afternoon, after a diaper change but before Papi was starting with dinner, Juice had to get the small whisk in the kitchen and then bend over Papis lap on the play mat. The onesie and diaper, of course, were pulled down and Papi would talk softly to him, explaining if he’d done something naughty or if it was an edifying spanking.  
  
Edifying spanking meant a very light one, designed to create a space where Juice could have an outlet for literally anything he’d carried around, knowingly or unknowingly, and just have a moment to cry. Those spankings were very cleansing and Papi never went hard on him. Afterwards they’d have the mandatory cuddles and talking, which meant just getting cried out and being praised and hugged.  
  
It was like having a moment to settle down a little and sort of getting in the right mindset for the evening. Juice spent the remaining time before Daddy came home, to lay puzzles and listen to calm music on his play mat while Papi finished his household work and started with dinner.  
  
Daddy coming home was always anticipated and Juice often felt how he almost beamed when hearing the sound of the bike. As soon as his lover came inside, Papi went from the kitchen to give him a kiss and then Daddy kissed Juice.  
  
It was always a little bit nervous when Papi and Daddy went to privately discuss how Juice had behaved during the day. Juice stayed on his play mat while they talked and then it was time to go with Daddy to the livingroom and close the door.  
  
Being babyfied, didn’t extend quite as much to this part of the day. Daddy was stern and wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense or let him off. Juice would be lectured, gently but firmly at first, forcing to name every little transgression he could think of that could add to what Papi had already told about. By then, Juice already felt exhausted and he often tested Daddy, begging him not to spank, really seeing if the rules would stick, if the world was still solid and safe.  
  
It always was. Daddy listened to Juice’s beggings and explanations, answered him in earnest and helped him to calm down a moment before explaining that it was good of Juice to talk so openly, but he’d still get spanked because Daddy knew he needed it, so Juice better got his bottom bare and in position before he earned himself more of what he already had coming.  
  
Daddy used different instruments, more painful than the whisk, and Juice not only cried, he actually wailed like he’d really been a small child with no self-control what so ever. He’d beg for Daddy to stop, promise to be a good boy, trying to cover himself with his hands, torned between wanting to avoid it and wanting more and more. The amount of crying, screaming and squirming had nothing to do with Daddy being harsher than usual, because it was the opposite. He was firm and it did hurt, but it was never too much and afterwards he’d spent a long time to cuddle and comfort Juice. He got forgiveness and oh so much praise, kisses and cuddles from his strict Daddy until he’d stopped crying and all was good again. Juice would cling onto him and get carried out to the kitchen where Papi always had time to give him some snuggles as well, despite being busy finishing the dinner.  
  
Releasing emotions twice in a day made Juice very tired, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Daddy fed him at the table and just listening to him and Papi talking, joking and teasing one another and their baby boy, was really nice. After dinner it was bath time with Daddy and just a little more time to sit with him and Papi by the telly, watching Disney before Juice definitely felt his eyes drooping and Papi put down his knitting, declaring it was time for the bed bottle.  
  
He always had that upstairs in bed when he’d gotten his pajamas on, and it was always Papi who gave it while Daddy pulled the blind down, lit the nightlamp and then started on a bedtime story. By the time Juice had finished his bottle, Papi helped brushing his teeth, checked his diaper and tucked him in.  
  
Yes, it was exhausting and humiliating, but Juice had never felt so safe. The strict, loving routine worked like a fertilizer on his backbone, the shaky spine with sore fetlocks who’d learned to bend down , straighten out and curve in nothing but fear, insecurity and a desperate, furious effort to stand up straight and never get crushed again.  
  
He wasn’t crushed now, but gently bent, not to be broken and humiliated, but to slowly build up that hurt, strained and stiff backbone again to something that would work with him and not be in a constant state of taught fear and self-hatred. 


	41. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're jumping ahead several days from the last chapter to follow Daddy on an undercover mission...

“Will you excuse me for a second?”  
“Sure.”  
“Thank you. Perez? Perez!”  
  
The short, corpulent man looked like he was lost somewhere in the wilderness and not trying to get hold on one of his employees in his very own office. Filip sat down in one of the shairs for waiting customers, trying not to look too unimpressed as he glanced around the crowded open-plan office, depressingly impersonal with just terrible air condition.   
  
Officially, Filip was on an errand for the shop, leaving their malfunctioning office laptop to get repaired, but the real business here was to get a personal impression of his lover’s work situation. The employees were many and sitting in small groups of three or four, desks put together so that they were more or less surrounded by each other. The sound of keyboards, voices, phone signals and cups of what, judging by the frequent visits to the coffee machine and the weak taste in Filip’s mouth, was the stressed out version of trying to stay awake when you didn’t have time to leave office.  
  
Mr. Daniels didn’t seem like a bad guy and Juice hadn’t described him as one either, but he was obviously a very stressed man, as was his employees. And it was only half past nine. As Juice’s boss came back from what was an apparantly urgent issue to talk to his early customer in a biker’s cut, Filip couldn’t help but smiling a little.  
  
“Busy day, huh?”  
“Actually, Mr. Telford, this is a pretty calm hour for us. Most cardiac arrests don’t occur here until after lunch.”  
  
The man gave a belly laugh and Filip answered with a suitable chuckle back, shaking his head.  
  
“Never thought mending cars an’ bikes would be more quiet than keyboards an’ screens.”  
“Well, we’re doing good, if I may say so myself, but it’s not a business for the faint-hearted. Unfortunately, my best guy is on sick-leave, and we’re drowning in work here.”  
“Sounds exhausting.”  
  
Mr. Daniels shuddered and nodded at Juice’s empty desk.  
  
“Let me tell you, Mr. Telford, had Ortiz been here, your problem had already been fixed.”  
“He’s some kinda’ super force around here, huh?”  
“You wouldn’t believe it when you see him, but yeah, he really is the best.”  
“Well, I hope he’s coming back soon then.”  
__  
Not.  
  
Filip maintained his friendly smile and they got down to discuss the old laptop and all it’s problems that Juice could’ve fixed perfectly well at home. The lad didn’t know he was here and Filip had wanted to get a closer look with as little preconceptions as possible. What he saw was, maybe not hell, but definitely bordering on purgatory.  
  
It wasn’t the work in itself that was the problem, which Filip and his husband already suspected, but the amount of stress, people, noises and unstated demands on being outgoing, social, alert and focused in a very chaotic and loud environment. It made Filip sad, realising that had Juice had a little space of his own, a door to close and some proper AC, the job probably would’ve suited him perfectly. The lad hadn’t come as far as he had from being half-assed with computors. Juice was a pro and if Filip had doubted that, the almost desperate mention of his name from Mr. Daniels, spoke loud and clear.  
  
A part of Filip felt a little guilty as the flushed man gave a date for when the computor could be done and ready. Piling on more work on an already overworked office just to have an excuse to get a look at his lover’s work place, seemed like using them as some kind of lab rats, especially since Mr. Daniels’ temper didn’t look like a sign of malice or carelessness, but plain and brutal stress he didn't handle all that well. And this wasn’t even one of the busy hours. No wonder Juice had crumbled.  
  
When Filip finally got out, the air outside felt like he was somewhere in the Scottish highlands in comparison and he straddled his bike with a scowl. Some stress at work from time to time was one thing, but this would destroy his sweet lad and that wasn’t acceptable. Problem was how to get Juice to come to that conclusion himself. From Filip’s experience, for any real, good change to happen and last, the decision had to come from yourself. You could lead and inspire, question and help people to look at their situation from another point of view, but in the end, the decision had to be made by the person who’s life it was about.  
  
And when it came to Juice… well, he didn’t know what he wanted and Filip sure as hell wouldn’t be the next in line of people who’d pushed and pulled him in directions he didn’t know if he wanted to go. What he could do, was to help the lad relaxing, having a break and hopefully, that would give his young lover a chance to discover what he wanted with his life, instead of what he thought was inevitable or expected of him.


	42. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi discovers something.

His baby boy, his sweet little love was so good today, Ronea was almost suspicious at first. It had been nine days now with the new, stricter routine and Juice _thrived._ The occasional outbursts of rebellion had been a lot fewer than expected, decreasing almost from one day to another, and with the special whiteboard they’d made, Juice now had a perfect tool to keep just enough control to relax in almost every situation.  
  
As Ronea himself was a bit of a control freak, or at least had been, making the whiteboard for Juice had been so funny he couldn’t help but feeling a little guilty about it. But it was fun to use all these pictures and colors, putting stickers on magnets to help his baby boy’s frayed mind with structure. The schedule, whiteboard, stickers, timelines and markings turned out to be exactly what Juice needed. The outbursts and panic attacks didn’t come quite as often and when they did, they seemed to last shorter and not leave Juice quite as shattered afterwards.  
  
Another thing that started to become clear as the days were passing, was that Juice started to count on Ronea and Filip to stick to the routine. If things changed due to something unexpected or, God forbid, any of them forgot that it was, for example, nap time, and suggested that they’d do something else, Juice would break down like the world was coming to an end. From an outsider perspective the outburst sometimes seemed extremely exaggerated, but the more Ronea learned about his boy, the more sense it made.  
  
Juice had been quiet for almost all his life. Not always as in not speaking at all, he wasn’t suffering from mutism and he could move around quite well in many social situations, but he’d learned that his opinions, thoughts and feelings didn’t matter. Ronea knew how that was, but his silencer had been a single man, while Juice had a whole goddamn choir howling him down and most certainly from a very early age. Computors and bikes, at least, didn’t do such things.   
  
With the expectations of thinking, talking and even figuring how he wanted things, temporarily taken away, step by step Juice gave himself over to his emotions and most fundamental needs. It wasn’t a kink or game, but a way to learn the trust and relaxation necessary for him to heal. While the binge eating was a mislead way of trying to satisfy an old hunger that no longer was physical, this babyfied state of being seemed to build up an emotional stock of nurture the grown up Juice had just felt too ashamed, afraid and tied up to absorb.   
  
It was late in the afternoon and Ronea had his usual coffee break with his feet up on the stool, reading or at least pretending to. Juice was laying on the mat, wiggling on his back as if massaging it onto the floor, while pressing his feet soles together, keeping them still with a firm grip in his hands. He didn’t have his pacifier, kept his eyes closed and Ronea watched in fascination. It looked very much like his boy was giving himself some kind of backrub, clearly enjoying it and just completely focused on what he was doing.  
  
Juice’s mind tended to scatter even on his best days and Ronea couldn’t take his eyes of the way he was soothing and grounding himself. His baby boy was an athletic person and the longterm illness had been particularly sneaky, making it impossible for him to engage in jogging, swimming or hitting the gym. All that forced stillness no doubt made it a lot worse for his mind and this simple rocking on the floor didn’t put any strain on Juice’s body, but was pure pleasure to him and it showed all over his face and body.   
  
Ronea very quietly put his book down. He’d helped Juice with this, massaging his hands and feet every day, making him roll around to ease the seemingly constant tension in his muscles, but this was the first time he’d seen the boy do it all by himself. Not just obeying or tolerating it while feeling ashamed, but actually reckonizing what his body craved and instinctively giving in to it without any need for permission or guidance, or any feelings of shame.  
  
It wasn’t forced or rushed. Juice didn’t seem to plan on what he was doing, he just gave in to his need for movement. It didn’t really look like he was imitating an actual baby either. It was just a human being rediscovering a way to give himself some much needed pleasure and Ronea cursed internally when he threw a look at the watch. Damn it, spanking time. Interrupting this mesmerizing little moment felt like a sacriledge and Ronea very slowly rose from the couch and sat down on the floor to get down to Juice’s level.  
  
“Baby boy?”  
  
He spoke as softly as possible and Juice turned his face towards him but still held his feet.   
  
“Yes, Papi?”  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Good, Papi.”  
  
He smiled and Ronea did too.   
  
“That must feel good for your back.”    
“Uh-huh. Really good, Papi.”  
“And I hate to interrupt you, sweetheart, but take a look at the board and clock. You can do it again later while I make dinner, okay?”  
  
Juice looked at the schedule and small clock Ronea kept close by to give his baby boy a sense of control and made a small frown. Ronea was just about to start a gentle persuation when Juice got up from the floor with more ease than he’d done in a long time.  
  
“Yes, Papi.”  
  
The frown was gone as quickly as it had come.


	43. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sin gets confessed.

He’d been a good boy today, Papi’s spanking was very light which was an important indicator and when Daddy came home, Juice didn’t feel the least anxious, only calm. Rolling on the floor was unexpectedly nice, especially on his lower back where he often got tense. He’d been so caught up in it that he didn’t hear Daddy coming and only discovered him when opening his eyes for a moment.  
  
“Daddy!”  
“Hey, Juicyboy. How’s yer day been?”  
“Good, Daddy. Really good. ‘M rolling.”  
“Aye, I can see tha’, lovey. T’is time for our lil’ talking, though.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
  
He wasn’t sure if he’d been naughty today, but for once that didn’t bother him in the least as he followed Daddy to the usual room. Daddy sat down on the couch and took Juice to sit on his lap.  
  
“Well, Juice, have ye done anything naughty today?”  
  
Juice frowned, thinking as hard as he could.  
  
“I’m not sure, Daddy.”  
“Did ye obey Papi all day?”  
“ _Think_ so, Daddy.”  
“Dinnae make a fuss at mealtimes?”  
“Nuh-uh, Daddy. Juice was a good boy, finishing everything.”  
“Tha’s really good, kiddo. No fowl language either?”  
“No, Daddy.”  
“Sounds like someone’s been a pure angel all day, huh. Maybe ye don’ even need a spanking?”  
  
What? No spanking? Had Papi not discovered…? Juice looked at Daddy, knowing he had a defiant look on his face.  
  
“Juice ate Papi’s cherry tomatos… From the plant.”  
  
Daddy looked like he thought he’d not heard right.  
  
“Wha’? Cherry tomatos? Ye… ate Papi’s _cherry tomatos_?”  
“Uh-huh. All of them. Without asking.”  
  
Now Daddy seemed completely perplexed.  
  
“But… _why_? Papi would’ve given ye some if ye’d asked, Juicy. When did ye do this?”  
“When the phone rang and Papi had to take the call. Was out in the garden and then Juice saw the tomatos.”  
“And instead o’ asking yer Papi if ye could have some, ye jus’ ate’em all? Where ye particularly hungry?”  
“Donno, Daddy. Juice just… saw them an’ felt Juice had to eat them.”  
“And Papi doesn’t know?”  
“No, Daddy.”  
“So ye’ve been lying to him?”  
  
Juice shook his head.  
  
“Nuh-uh, Daddy. Papi didn’t ask, so Juice didn’t lie, just didn’t… tell.”  
“Oh, alright. Uhm… Juice, how about ye show me those plants.”  
“Kay, Daddy.”  
  
He took Daddy’s hand, more or less dragging him outside and passed Papi in the kitchen who looked a little surprised but didn’t say anything. Juice lead Daddy to the place of his crime.  
  
“There, Daddy. Look.”  
  
He pointed at the sad form of a plant, deprived of it’s shiny little fruits. Daddy’s eyebrows were now well up to his hair.  
  
“Uhm, Juicyboy… Why did ye say ye ate _all_ of’em?”  
“Juice did! All on the plant. Juice ate them all, Daddy, an’ didn’t ask Papi for permission.”  
  
He looked at Daddy, almost pleading with his big, brown eyes.  
  
“That was _naughty_ of Juice, wasn’t it, Daddy?”


	44. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making the final decision isn't always easy...

“Lord help me… All of them… All _three_ of them!”  
  
Ronea was shaking from poorly muffled laughter over the oven cooked salmon, trying not to squirt too much lemon on it. Filip didn’t do much to help, as he was laughing his ass off too, albeit in the bend of his arm. Ronea hadn’t known about the tomatos until after Juice’s spanking when the boy came back to the kitchen, practically running, asking for forgiveness for stealing three small cherry tomatos while Ronea had been on the phone with Venus.  
  
“The perfect crime, Filip…”  
“Aye, the one no one would ever have discovered.”  
“How… how much did you spank him... for this dark deed against my garden?”  
“Fifteen light ones with the spoon an’ I swear, lovey, I was so bloody close to break down an’ jus’ ruin it all… Ye should’ve seen his face when he tol’ me, baby… Eyes like some kind o’ Bambi an’ then _‘tha’ was naughty o’ Juice’_ , completely deadpan.”  
  
They both laughed again, trying to keep it quiet, but Juice, who was back on his beloved mat, rocking himself while listening to some Irish folk music, didn’t seem to notice them. Filip looked at him, affectionate and a little confused.  
  
“Wha’s he doing?”  
“Soothing himself, I think.”  
“He’s anxious?”  
  
Ronea shook his head and put an arm around Filip’s waist.  
  
“No, baby. He’s been doing it since around three. Just look at his face.”  
  
Juice had his pacifier, but he wasn’t sucking on it like he did when he felt worried and he had his eyes closed, once again lost in his movement. His face wasn’t tense, brows not furrowed and the way he practically rubbed his back onto the mat and seemed unaware of his surroundings, was definitely not anxious.  
  
“How did it start?”  
  
Filip whispered now and Ronea smiled.  
  
“That’s the best part. He just started doing it on his own. Didn’t ask for help, didn’t say anything, really, and when I discovered him, he wasn’t even startled.”  
“At all?”  
“No, he just kept doing it, looking like he didn’t have a single worrying thing on his mind. He wasn’t ashamed and when I told him it was spanking time, he just rolled up, like a cat and looked completely calm. I know spankings aren’t something we should just get done and over with, but it wasn’t like that. It’s difficult to explain.”  
“He’s found a way to calm down by himself…”  
  
Filip was in awe, eyes stuck to the cute scene. Ronea nibbled his ear.  
  
“I think that our baby boy is starting to find himself again, Mr. Telford.”  
“Or finding something he dinnae know he had.”  
“God knows I wanna have the people who never allowed him to be a child hanged, drawn and quartered, but this is still probably one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”  
“Aye, it is, Mr. Telford-Tully. Our beautiful boy… S’almost a pity we have to make him stop soon, even if it’s ‘cause o’ yer salmon.”  
“Trust me, I’ve had a difficult time focusing on my work since he started that. Can’t remember last time I saw him so calm and happy for that long, especially not away from our arms.”  
“Maybe the sling has helped… Just being close to ye.”  
  
Ronea nodded.  
  
“Yeah, he likes it. Can’t carry him around for that long moments, of course, but I really think it’s helping a lot. He’s so relaxed when I carry him, he starts snoozing within a minute. I sit with him like that on the couch.”  
“As long as ye’re careful with yer back, lovey, it’s a great idea. Oh, an’ as long as he’s not getting aroused.”  
“Even we can’t control a sudden boner, baby, but I don’t think we have to worry. I don’t judge ADBL one bit and neither do you two, but that’s not quite our thing and I’ve not had that vibe from Juice at all. I think the reason he loves it so much, is horrifyingly simple. He’s not been completely deprived of care and affection throughout his childhood, because he’s never stopped searching for it, but there’s never been a situation when he’d had that need satisfied. A scrap here and there, just enough to keep his hopes up for more.”  
“Even if it’s rarely happened…”  
  
They both looked at their boy again and Filip swallowed.  
  
“Baby, promise not to startle Juice now, but I went by his work today.”  
  
His husband tensed and turned around, highly surprised but emotions in complete control and in that moment Filip loved him for that.  
  
“I’ve not broken our agreement, lovey, or given any hints tha’ we even know him.”  
“Not that I thought you would, but still, thank God. What on Earth were you doing there, baby?”  
“Brought the shop laptop in for reparation.”  
“Okay, let me rephrase that: Why did you bring the laptop there, instead of simply having Juice take a look at it at home?”  
“Cause I wanted to have a look at his work.”  
“You mean spy?”  
“Aye.”  
“And I’m gonna assume that you have a really good reason for this until I’m proven wrong.”  
  
Filip sighed.  
  
“I know how this looks an’ wha’ this reminds ye of, lovey, trust me. I dinnae want to, but I couldna see any other way.”  
“And I know you’re a lightyear away from Aaron, Filip, but you also know that’s how he would’ve explained it.”  
  
Fuck. He should’ve waited to bring this up until Juice was in bed, but the horse was out of the barn and there was nothing Filip could do to bring it back. He turned Ronea around, who had _that_ expression on his face, the old, malignant fear that so rarely rose to the surface these days, Filip would sometimes forget it existed. He took Ronea’s hands, like he sometimes did when asking for forgiveness or just badly needed his support.  
  
“Lovey, I don’ ask of ye to just trust me an’ let it go, no way I’d do tha’ to ye, Ronea. I only ask tha’ we don’ show Juice we’ve talked about this, until we’ve had a chance to talk about it just ye an’ me. I promise ye, I have my reasons an’ I learned things today tha’ I think is vital for Juice’s recovery. So I beg ye, have a lil’ trust in me.”  
“I do, Filip. You know I trust you more than anyone. More than myself.”  
  
His beautiful husband didn’t look quite as worried and disappointed now and he bit his lower lip.  
  
“Are you telling me to keep quiet?”  
  
Telling as in ordering. Filip shook his head.  
  
“No, lovey. I’m asking ye to, not as yer top but as yer husband, regardless of our roles. I’m _begging_ ye not to show Juice we’ve had this conversation until I’ve had a chance to properly tell ye my reasons. I’ve never lied to ye or sugarcoated my actions, have I, lovey?”  
“Not once in twentyfour years, baby.”  
“And ye still trust me to make the right decisions for ye an’ Juice?”  
  
Ronea nodded.  
  
“Of course I do. You’re my husband and I know and trust you. And you know I don’t expect you to be some kind of übermensch who’s never wrong or never makes any mistakes. It’s just… I can’t help it, Filip, but I just get immediate bad vibes from it. Doesn’t seem to matter how long he’s been out of my life… or dead…”  
“Which is why I’m the luckiest man on Earth for having yer trust, Ronea. If ye don’ think my explanation holds up, I expect ye to tell me an’ advice me on how to make up for it. I’ll follow yer lead on this one an’ I’m sorry I dinnae do so in the first place.”  
  
Ronea smiled now, the worry  seemingly leaving, at least for now.  
  
“I trust you, baby.”  
“Thank ye, lovey. I wont let ye down, I promise.”  
“And if your explanation aint good enough, you’ll have haggis and unseasoned cabbage for dinner for two weeks. And no sex either.”  
“Wouldn’t tha’ be a punishment for ye as well?”  
“Not if you’re the one in chastity while I have fun with my toys.”  
  
Filip looked at his meek husband, realising he was completely serious and he nodded.  
  
“Deal. I’ll put myself in chastity with ye holding the key an’ I’ll eat haggis an’ unseasoned cabbage without cheating with take-aways at work for two weeks if my explanation doesn’t hold up.”  
“And you’re gonna have to tell Juice, of course.”  
“Of course. In fact, I’m still hoping ye’re gonnae agree with my decision an’ help me explain it all to him.”  
“So do I, baby. So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While being in the midst of this absolute crack ship story that originally was supposed to be a short porn, I just want to say how happy I get whenever I receive a kudo, another subscription and most of all comments on this piece. I've been writing crack ships for about two and a half years now and sometimes it's really difficult to attract new readers, since I know a lot of people often prefer storys and characters closer to canon. To each there own, of course, but it's just something special whenever someone finds the way to one of my crack ship - or just rare ship - stories. 
> 
> And I also want to thank especially Unprogrammed who comments on pretty much every single chapter, which is just the best thing ever! *kisses and hugs to you* 
> 
> I want everyone who follows this story to know that literally ANY comment - so long as it's not hostile, of course - is so, so welcome. I'll tell you, it's like little Christmas to get an e-mail titled "Comment on Shamrock Equation". So to all of you who follow this little crack ship who may be thinking that you have nothing interesting or important to add in a comment, I just want to say that while commenting isn't the reason I write, it's an absolute delight to get feedback, because it's just so encouraging to know that really, someone's actually really engaged in this weird little thing I've created, especially when you're into crack ship stories where canon is shattered and spread with the wind.
> 
> *kisses and hugs*


	45. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being little, sometimes means growing. 
> 
> I want to just sorta prepare/warn my dear readers that further on, this baby thing will extend further. It's NOT, how ever, a kink for either of them, so if this makes you cringe a little as the story goes on, just keep in mind this isn't an ADBL story so you're not gonna be "lured into" anything like that, but prepare for some pretty unusual stuff, at least for SoA...

The rocking back and forth had clearly been good for more than Juice’s tense back. Ronea’s baby boy ate his dinner with good appetite despite the sneaky tomato snack earlier on and when it was time for his bath, he’d even filled his diaper. Analyzing Juice’s feces definitely wasn’t one of Ronea’s favourite things to do but it served an important purpose and the contents of the boy’s still sore tummy had healthy color, consistensy and quantity tonight, which hadn’t been the usual case for some time now. Not rare, but still not regularly enough for his tummy to be declared healthy.  
  
Bath time was schedule now, as all other things in Juice’s life, and when Ronea had washed him on the changing mat, he helped Juice into the tub. Rubber ducks weren’t a thing and Ronea had a feeling that actual toys for kids would be more humiliating than helpful to his baby boy. Watching Disney classics was one thing, lots of adults loved them too, and fairytales had been told between adults for thousands of years without shame, but rubber ducks? Nope.  
  
Although being babyfied clearly helped Juice a lot, Ronea definitely didn’t want to get him too deep into it. The point was to make him feel safe and relaxed, not to degrade him or undermine his ability to express himself. As it was now, the babylike state provided a safe space for Juice to explore and express feelings and needs he’d previously felt too scared and ashamed to share. A baby didn’t have any demands to explain himself, wasn’t forced to control his emotions or even expected to behave.  
  
Nothing could ever give Juice his lost childhood back, or erase his painful past, but paradoxical, by being treated like a baby who was completely dependent on others in all things, the boy actually seemed more independent than Ronea had ever seen him. He yawned in the tub.  
  
“Juice is tired, Papi.”  
“I can see that, baby boy. Lucky for you, it’s almost bedtime. Lets rinse the bubbles off now.”  
  
Juice’s naked back was muscular, but the last weeks had weakened it a bit. Bodily strenght was perishable, after all, and had to be regularly maintained. Ronea didn’t doubt his boy would be eager to get back into shape once he was cleared for more excercise but as with all other things, it had to be in a slow, safe pace that didn’t stress him. For now, small strolls in the garden, gentle stretching and rolling on the floor would have to do.  
  
Tonight, Juice wasn’t in the mood for whining or throwing a tantrum. He happily let Ronea rinse his hair and back, went up from the tub without protesting and laid down on the changing mat before having to be told. Ronea dried him properly and proceeded with the numbing cream, squeezing it in as gentle as possible over Juice’s penis and balls. In Ronea’s mind, the word cock simply didn’t fit with his baby boy right now. There was nothing sexual with Juice at all these days and the boy didn’t seem to miss it. Still, it was important to check how he felt about it.  
  
“Baby boy?”  
“Yes, Papi?”  
“I need to ask you an adult question, if that’s okay.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Is it uncomfortable with the numbing cream, Juice?”  
“No, Papi.”  
“You don’t miss being our _big_ baby boy?”  
“Uhm… Haven’t really thought about it, Papi.”  
  
Ronea almost sighed out loud from relief. Juice didn’t seem the slightest throubled or uncomfortable by the question, just frowning a little as if he’d actually not been giving the issue much thought.  
  
“If it’s a difficult question, you don’t have to force yourself to come up with a full answer, sweetheart.”  
“S’not difficult, Papi.”  
  
Juice looked perfectly calm, just thoughtful, and he lifted his hips to let Ronea slide a clean diaper in place. As he laid back down and Ronea started to put it on, he made a little smile.  
  
“It really feels good, Papi. Like… I know it’s not a good time for it and I don’t know but… it’s kinda nice not having to, you know, deal with that too.”  
  
Ronea smiled too now.  
  
“One less stressful thing to handle, huh?”  
“Yeah. I mean, it’s… nice just being… little. My head is much more quiet, my tummy barely hurts anymore and... I guess the _big_ boy things will come back when I’m ready. When… when I grow up again…”  
  
Honestly, all Ronea wanted to do now was to scoop his baby up and just cry from happiness, but of course he couldn’t do that. But really, his heart was practically about to burst from joy, hearing how well Juice not only expressed himself, but understood, accepted and coped with his emotions and current state of being. Instead of having an outburst of joyful emotions, Ronea bent down and gave his brave baby a kiss on his forehead.  
  
“You know what, my little love. I think that for being as little as you are now, you’re having an awful lot of really rational, wise thoughts.”


	46. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little trip down memory lane and it's not a very nice one.

For most of his time with Papi and Daddy, ever since the beginning, even the best parts when he’d felt as relaxed and safe as he thought was possible, Juice had always harboured a feeling of fear. It occurred in all situtations, no matter if they talked, ate, cuddled, spanked or had sex. It was still difficult to put that fear into words, but it had everything to do with feeling dirty and disgusting, shameful, unworthy and unwanted. That as soon as Papi and Daddy would see who he really was, they’d leave him in utter disgust, regretting the moment they ever let a freak like him into their lives.  
  
Wearing diapers, eating from bottles and all the other childlike things added to his life, had once been occasional things to fill his need for safe humiliation, a kink that wasn’t specifically directed towards diapers or babyfying at all, but really to any kind of humiliation within his particular comfort zone.  
  
This, how ever, was different. He’d not used the toilet for a long time now and it didn’t bother him at all. If anything, he felt better without it. He could let go in his diaper anytime he wanted and his lovers would take care of the mess. He’d been early out of diapers as a child, which Juice had always thought was a good thing, but as he experienced how Papi and Daddy handled the thing with messy diapers, the memory of how his childhood’s supposedly succesful potty training had actually played out, came to life.  
  
Juice had been fully potty-trained as a two-year-old, by a foster mother who simply forced him to remain on the potty until something happened. She’d not been mean to him, at least Juice didn’t have any memories of being spanked, yelled at or ignored by her. She was just fiercly determined not to spend money on diapers and would even resort to bribery, mainly cartoons and sugarfree jelly candy containing a lot of highly laxative sweeteners along with sweet, diuretic beverage. Definitely not healthy for a kid who’d not even gotten all of his baby teeth yet, but effective for a toddler who’s main caretaker was a lazy ass bitch who couldn’t be bothered with changing diapers.  
  
It seemed, in hindsight, as if the potty-training had been more about the will, needs and comfort of adults, than baby Juice’s. His needs were a nuisance, things people around him had to endure and only assisted with out of duty and a charity someone like him should be very grateful of. Actaul praise for his progress was close to non-existant, but the woman who’d potty-trained him would always confirm if he’d done the right thing and as toddler raised on the boarder of devestating neglect but never fully falling over, he was still able to look for and dwell in praise whenever it was handed out, especially when it was consistent. But among the many faults his then foster mother had, and she had plenty, punishments and shaming when he got messy pants weren’t among them. She’d been lazy, cheap and far more interested in the paycheck than the toddler who guaranteed it, but compared to many of Juice’s foster homes, she’d definitely been one of the better ones.  
  
The drops of care and affections had been few and sparsely scattered over time, no matter where he’d lived as a child or teen, but still enough for him to not stop hoping altogether. Praise from a teacher (“only two errors, well done!”) or a school’s usher using his name (“woah, watch your steps, Juan, you don’t wanna fall on your face and get a nose as big as mine”) or even strangers when he was following one foster mom or another to the supermarket, helping to put groceries on the register (“mommy must be happy having such a good helper with her”).  
  
Praise, yes, but also the occasional tenderness he experienced from people who couldn’t resist the small boy with huge, brown eyes who’d learned that the chance for smiles, hugs and praise would increase if he was stayed still and quiet. They weren’t, however, a guarantee and as he grew into a pre-teen and later a teen, a lot of the effort to gain affection was gone and replaced with suspicion and weary. It was very tiring to keep himself so controlled, especially when puberty hit with the shitstorm of hormones, growing pains and emotions going crazy no matter if he tried to keep the chaos inside or let it show. The outlet was probably as inevitable as it was natural, but to foster parents and teachers, social workers and youth home staff, Juan Carlos Ortiz was just an ungrateful brat who needed a good belting, house arrest and a haircut.  
  
His feelings were not only irritating and poorly handled, but unfounded and not worthy of any attention. If he just got them under control and behaved _like he knew he should instead of ruining things for himself_ , life would be so much easier for him, his social worker once said with a sigh when yet another foster home had had enough and a fourteen-year -old Juan Carlos, who wasn’t called Juice yet, sat in her office with arms and legs covered with bruises and his few belongings in the school bag, tightly clutched to his chest. That time, while sitting on a bruised ass and making sure not to lean back on his equally bruised back, Juan Carlos had started wondering if some people were made for relations, while others, like him, simply weren’t programmed that way.  
  
Depressing at is was, the thought was also comforting. If he was so lousy with people and emotions, that he ended up being hit, yelled at and abandoned all the time because he made it impossible for other people to like him, then maybe he was naturally unable to have any kind of close relationship, being it as a son, a brother, a friend or boyfriend, then it really wasn’t anyone fault. People perhaps didn’t hate him by choise, it was just inevitable and that made them victims too. For fucks sake, he couldn’t even manage to make a proper rebellion and start using drugs or commit petty crimes. He was just an impossible kid who kept fucking things up and made people tired of handing out chances.  
  
Here, long years and oceans of loneliness, heartache and abuse later, all those things that used to make people leave him, were met with love and patience. His needs were not only acknowledged and accepted, but handled and satisfied with such care it was just too much for his adult brain to handle. The adult Juice was too ashamed, too afraid and, despite what one might think, too cynical to accept that two people that had been complete strangers to him less than a year ago, who had no legal obligations what so ever to spend this amount of love, time, effort and money on him, a grown man who only was their lover and should be able to take care of himself, did all this without a hint of irritation or disappointment.  
  
Yes, the adult Juice was nothing but shocked by this, but the part of him that was starved of love and affection, the baby Juice who’d never learned to stop longing for a family, was unstoppable now that he’d gotten a taste of the human bonds he’d not been allowed to form when he needed it the most.


	47. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High time for some husband talking.

“O ba ba mo leanabh, ba mo leanabh, ba. O ba ba mo leanabh, nì mo leanabhs' an ba ba…”  
  
Oh hush-a-bye, my little baby, hush, my little baby, hush. Oh hush-a-bye, my little baby, my own little baby will go to sleep… Gaelic had never been Filip’s strong suit, but you don’t forget lullabies your own mother sang to you as a wee bairn. His lil’ one was snoozing now, snoring adorably and just so calm and snuggled in.  
  
The man who’d become his boy, his submissive lover, wasn’t any of that now. He’d regressed back to a place in his mind where it felt safer to heal and Filip wondered if Juice would ever understand just how much strenght and courage it took to allow that. Sure, in a way it must feel very safe to give up the responsibilities of a grown-up life, as much as it was possible, but it was also an extremely vulnerable situation to put oneself in.  
  
It meant exposing your most intimate and hidden needs, to erase all the layers of growth and strip bare in another and far deeper meaning than simply dropping your clothes. Juice not only needed to feel trust again, he actively challenged his fears, his life-long shame of himself and his needs, all the pain and suffering he’d been through, and instead of using it as a shield, he’d unknowlingly turned it into a weapon.  
  
Juice mumbled a little in his sleep and Filip stroke his cheek. It was difficult to leave tonight. Ronea was already downstairs finishing up some chores he’d left undone while marveling over Juice’s rolling on the carpet. That was a good sign too, Filip thought. Taking care of Juice fulltime was strenuous and required for both Filip and Ronea to be a little more lax with their own schedules. It was simply way more important that Ronea took some extra time to just rest with his knitting and coffee, than having the kitchen sparkling half an hour after dinner. Filip smiled to himself, planting another soft kiss on the messy, black hair and then carefully moved away, slow as not to startle his lil’ one.  
  
The nightlamp was lit, the air coming from the small window chink was fresh enough and Juice was firmly tucked in, wasn’t feverish or freezing. Filip left the door half-closed, made sure there was light in the hallway and then he went downstairs.  
  
In the kitchen, Ronea had already put the kettle on and two cups with homemade herbal tea were prepared on the countertop and he was leaning over the sink, looking out through the window. In the evening dark, Filip thought his weary husband looked more beautiful than ever in his burled cardigan and slightly baggy pants. The hands that were so gentle with all things fragile bore signs of when that gentleness only extended to others and Filip couldn’t help but feeling sad when thinking about how alike his husband and Juice were in that regard. How long time it had taken for Ronea to embrace his needs and defeat the shame.  
  
Filip walked up to him and Ronea startled.  
  
“Jesus, Filip…”  
“Sorry, lovey, dinnae mean to scare ye.”  
“I’ve made jasmine tea. Or you want another sort?”  
“Jasmine sounds nice, lovey. Ye’re tired?”  
“Yeah…“  
  
Ronea made a small laughter.  
  
“Was a good day, but I’m knackered.”  
“An’ worried, aye?”  
  
Normally, Filip didn’t put words in his husband’s mouth, but Ronea just nodded.  
  
“I know I don’t have to, but…”  
  
He made a helpless little gesture and Filip caught the annoyed glimpse in the green eyes. It wasn’t directed towards him, but to the past that still came back to haunt Ronea, even if it didn’t happen very often these days. When it did, it was still unpleasant and tiring though, and Filip leaned his forehead onto his husband’s shoulder.  
  
“Ye’re a pure bonnie an’ canny man, Mr. Telford-Tully.”  
“Resorting to flattery already, huh? That doesn’t bode well, Mr. Telford.”  
  
Ronea did smile how ever and took the cups.  
  
“Lets sit down.”  
  
Parked on the couch with Ronea in his usual corner but not picking his knitting up and Filip in the other corner, leaving his book untouched on the side table, things suddenly felt really serious and Filip watched the steam rising from his cup.  
  
“The reason I dinnae ask or even tell any o’ ye ‘bout my plans for today, wasn’t because I wanted to keep it a secret or go behind yer backs, Ronea. Neither yers nor Juicy’s. I wanted to… see his work situation first hand, without anyone knowing, so I could just get a feeling ‘bout it.”  
“Is it because you don’t trust Juice to tell you the truth, or that you think you have a better judgement than him in this matter?”  
  
Ronea was very respectful, not accusive or even questioning, but simply wondering what Filip based his decision on. Filip sighed.  
  
“T’is his fear tha’ I don’ trust, Ronea. From wha’ I can see, it looks a lot like Juice naturally puts himself through shite an’ misery, ‘cause he doesn’t understand tha’ he deserves better, or even realises it _is_ miserable. Which, an’ I cannae stress this enough, doesn’t mean tha’ I always understand wha’ he needs better, jus’ tha’ I don’ think he’s capable of having a clear view on his situation, ‘cause feeling stressed out, anxious an’ scared is jus’ so normal to him, he cannae tell when enough is enough.”  
“Much like an abuse victim blaming himself in the E.R. when his boyfriend broke half of his fingers and replaced his make-up with blackeyes?”  
“Aye an’ nay. Ye knew, on some level, tha’ wha’ he did to ye wasn’t right even if ye felt stuck an’ blamed yerself, but Juice… He jus’ doesn’t grasp the idea tha’ t’is even possible to put himself first. When ye took my number, ye dinnae see it as a… temporarily escape.”  
  
His husband made a sad little smirk.  
  
“I wasn’t seeing very much at all in that moment. I was just desperate and you… you didn’t judge, didn’t tell me to leave him… You just let me be, gave me space, you know… A little time to breathe.”  
“Had to be yer decision. An’ ye actually never defended the bastard.”  
“You think that played a major part?”  
“I know it did.”


	48. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More talking, now from Papi's perspective. It's continuing pretty much directly after the previous chapter.

“So… what’s your impression of his work?”  
“To be perfectly honest, lovey, t’is a hell hole.”  
“That’s a pretty strong description.”  
“Believe me, it fits.”  
  
Filip shook his head in disgust.  
  
“The manager seems nice enough, but Jesus Christ, he’s walking _bomb_ of stress. _I_ felt close to a seizure in there, an’ I was just there for twenty minutes, tops. An’ apparantly it was one o’ the _calm_ hours.”  
“That bad?”  
“Ye have no idea… “  
  
Filip shuddered and shook his head.  
  
“Constant noises, a crowded open-plan with too many desks crammed in together and people barely had time to swallow some coffee. Hot an’ clammy, no bloody air an’ jus’ a fucking _mess_. How do people get anything done in a place like tha’?”  
“So you think the work has big part in this?”  
“I’d say it’s far, far bigger than I’d ever imagined. There’s absolutely no place to get away in there, Ronea. An’ when I told ‘bout my errand, showed our sad old machine from the shop, the manager actually mentioned Juice an’ how badly they needed him back. Readin’ between the lines, it looks like his reputation is wha’ gives’em so many customers an’ I’m jus’ gonnae assume tha’ it means he’s actually doing far more than he’s paid for. His skills are utilized to the bloody extreme in tha’ place an’ I don’ think his boss or his co-workers even realize tha’.”  
  
Ronea felt horrified by what Filip had discovered, but there was still the issue of how he’d managed his little operation.  
  
“Did you in any way expose our relationship with him or hinted that you knew anything personal about him at all?”  
“Absolutely not, lovey. I dinnae even bring his name up, his boss did, an’ it was _painfully_ obvious how badly they need’im back. An’ to be honest, I’d rather burn the fucking place down than greenlighting Juice going back there. An’ I know, I _know_ it’s not my decision to make, baby. I don’ rule Juice’s life decisions, I jus’… have an opinion.”  
“Okay, easy now, Filip, I wasn’t questioning you about what you saw and I’m not going to.”  
  
He squeezed his upset husband’s hand to sooth him a little, but to be honest, Ronea was pretty upset too. Not by Filip’s undercover visit, because although it wasn’t the way Ronea wanted to handle it, this time it seemed to have been the right move.   
  
“Baby, let me just tell you that I absolutely understand why you did this the way you did and that I agree it was the best way to handle it.”  
“Ye really think so, lovey?”  
“Yeah. It was the right thing to do now, however, it doesn’t mean it’s automatically okay to do something similar again. It wasn’t technically a contract violation, Filip, but it’s a damn close one.”  
“I know.”  
“All that said, I’m glad you did it. Sort of.”  
“End justifies the means, or something?”  
“Something like that, yeah.”  
  
Ronea put their cups away and leaned into Filip’s chest. The fire was cracking and gave the seriousness of the conversation a more gentle, friendly setting. It felt a lot better now, Ronea had to admit, when he’d been confirmed that his husband hadn’t lost his mind at all, quite the opposite. His little trip had brought valuable information and shed light on a matter where they’d stumbled a lot in the darkness for a while.  
  
“You think it’s wrong to handle it like this? With the baby stuff?”  
“Well… have to admit, I wasn’t sure at first, but jus’ hearing ‘bout yer day together an’ seeing him today when I came home… If we can help’im grow down, we should be able to help’im grow up again too.”  
“I’ve never actually seen him soothe himself like that before, Filip. He just looked so _happy._ ”  
“An’ I wish ye’d heard his confession… Christ…”  
“He needs this, baby. He needs all of it and maybe it’s wrong on some level, but if it is, I just can’t see how.”  
“Me neither. Tha’ part when he told ‘bout the tomatos an’ how naughty he was, I swear I saw jus’ a lil’ glimpse o’ his old self. Playful, impish…”  
“He’s not there yet, though.”  
“I know, lovey. But I feel like it’s a good sign. Really good…”


	49. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: check the tags.

_Stop… uh… stop, fucking… squirming, sweet cheeks… Yeah, that’s a good bitch, stay still… So tight, goddammit… My little Puerto Rican… Or was it Mexican… Nah, you’re… uh… too pretty for a… wetback…_  
  
Everything hurts and he can’t move. The one thought that keeps coming back through this sickening pain as his body betrays him, one limb at the time, is how stupid he is. So goddamn weak, gullible and stupid Juice Ortiz still is, always has been and always will be.  
  
He can still feel the attacker’s cum running down the inside of his thighs when the stabs, because that’s how the thrusts feel like, stops and his knees give in, trying to share the weight of his pierced body with the wall. His palms get scraped, tiny traces of blood over the bricks and the tears now mixing with saliva and blood from his mouth. He’s bitten his cheeks bloody and then there’s Eliah, his foster brother, pointing at him.  
  
_Look, daddy, Juan’s kissing a boy!_  
  
Juice wants to say he’s not kissing, he’s not doing anything, but Eliah is only five and doesn’t understand. Then Orson comes, folding up the sleeves of his bright office shirt and Juice thinks he’s gonna stop this, but he just takes his belt off, folding it and Juice screams.  
  
_Please, help me!_  
  
Orson stands still, keeping his belt ready and waits, watching the attacker adjusting himself. He leaves without Orson trying to stop him, or even saying a word, he just approaches Juice slowly, disgust written all over him.  
  
_You’re a creep, Juan. Filthy little half-bred faggot…  
  
_ A buzzing sound, the sharp pain of leather and Juice curls to a sobbing ball. When he sees the flocks of thick, black hair falling onto the ground, some of them sticking to the blood sipping from his legs, he just screams and screams…  
  
_“Juice! Baby boy, wake up, you’re dreaming again, sweetheart! Shh, sweet baby, it’s just a nightmare, Papi’s here, Juicy… We’re both here, my little love…”_  
“Help me! Orson, _please!_ ”  
_“Juicyboy, ye’re…”_  
“I didn’t want it! He-he’s hurting me, Orson… Please, help me…”  
_“Hold ‘im, Ronea, he’s gonnae vomit.”_  
_“Baby boy, wake up. You’re dreaming, nothing’s happening, angel, Papi and Daddy got you…”  
  
_ The pain and shock cuts through him with a horrifying twist, shattering his upper body and he's puking, waves of nausea pulsing like beats from a rotten heart the rest of his inner organs are trying to get rid of.  
  
_“Daddy’s got ye, lil’ one… Darlin’, poor lil’ darlin’… Yer poor tummy…”  
_ “Orson, p-please…” _  
“Juicyboy, Orson isn’t here, ti’s jus’ Daddy an’ Papi an’ we’re not gonnae let anyone hurt our lil’ one.”  
“You’re safe, baby boy, and you’ll wake up now and the nasty dream will go away. Please, get a wet towel, Filip.”  
“Aye, lovey.”_  
_“Sweet baby, wake up…_ Wake up, Juicy…”  
__  
He is shaking like a sieve, teeth rattling and he is drenched in sweat and vomits, pitiful noises coming from his chest as he tries to breathe. Finally he reckognizes the voices.  
  
“P-papi… M-make it stop, Papi… H-hurts…”  
“I know, baby boy, I know. Papi’s gonna help you, sweetheart, c’mere, angel, lean onto Papi… I got you, my little love… Daddy’s gonna dab your face a little now, it’s gonna feel good, Juicy…”  
  
He shivers as the cold wetness touches his forehead, but despite the chill it feels good and there’s a smell to it that seems to make the air less foul and sticky.  
  
“Here, laddie, take a lil’ sip an’ spit it out, aye?”  
  
A cup of something minty is put to his lips and Juice manages to have a small sip, rinsing and spit it out, not even looking where he hit.  
  
“Tha’s a good lad... Good boy, Juicy. Ronea, lovey, try an’ help’im with the tank top.”  
“Baby boy, lets get this wet rag off and get you warm, alright?”  
“P-papi…”  
  
He is sobbing now, breath hitching and then gentle hands are removing his tank top and suddenly there’s warm, dry skin closing around his shivering body, palms rubbing his sticky back.  
  
“Here, lovey, yer pacifier… There we go, laddie…”  
  
The now familiar item has an instant effect and Juice starts sucking on instinct, burying his face in the crook of Papi’s neck. He can feel both Papi’s and Daddy’s bodies like a safe nest around him now, warm and protective and the sobs turns into full-on crying.  
  
“H-hurt me, Daddy… They hurt Juicy…”  
“Who hurt ye, lovey?”  
“Th-the man o-outside… The man hurt Juicy an’… an’ O-o-orson didn’t h-help Juicy…”  
“Orson was yer foster da, wasn’t he, darlin’?”  
“Y-yeah… Was b-bad…”  
“Aye, he was a bad man, Juicyboy. A very bad man who hurt ye. He hurt my lil’ one, but he’s never gonnae do tha’ again, kiddo.”  
“D-didn’t help J-juicy… By the w-wall…”  
“Ye were by a wall, lovey? Was it outside?”  
“Y-yes… B-bricks… He hurt me…”  
“Orson hurt ye by the brick wall?”  
“W-watched…”  
“Orson watched when someone hurt ye by the brick wall, Juicy?”  
“Y-yes…”  
  
Another flood of tears wells up and Juice clings onto Papi’s skin, whatever he can grab.  
  
“Ha-half… half-bred f-f-faggot… J-juice is a f-filthy faggot…”


	50. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice handles the stress from the nightmare in an unexpected way Papi and Daddy aren't sure how to deal with. This is what my little warning in chapter 45 was about.

Getting Juice to take his anxiety med, carry him to the bathroom and in the tub, washing him thoroughly and get him a clean nappy, a dry onesie and then take him down to the livingroom took a good forty minutes and the lad was still shivering when Ronea put the sling on.  
  
He didn’t walk around with Juice, but sat down on the floor by the fire, long legs straight out and leaned back on the couch with Juice straddled on his lap. Filip stuck a pillow behind his tall husband’s neck for support and kissed his hair.  
  
“I’ll make’im a bottle, lovey. Would ye like a cup o’ tea?”  
“Yes, please. Could do with some herbal mix.”  
“I’ll fix it.”  
“Thanks, baby. Shh, baby boy, shh… S’alright, sweetheart, everything will feel better soon…”  
  
Ronea was cooing and rocking Juice in the sling that in this moment wasn’t just a tool to make Juice feel emotionally safer, but an actual support for his wrecked body – and for his tired Papi as well. With the sling, Ronea could use his arms to cuddle his lil’ one without having to rely on them for support to keep Juice’s limp form steady.  
  
Filip reluctantly went out in the kitchen and put the kettle on, found a carton with almond milk in the fridge and poured some in a pot to warm. In this moment, Filip seriously craved a joint and had to actually force himself not to leave the stove. Tea would have to do, for now.  
  
When he came back to the livingroom, Juice seemed a little calmer but clung onto his Papi like some kind of human koala. Ronea nudged his head, planting a little kiss on his ear.  
  
“Daddy’s made a bottle for you, baby boy. You need something nice and warm in your tummy so we gotta move the sling for now, okay?”  
“No! Want Papi…”  
“You’ll still sit with Papi, sweetheart, and we’ll get the sling back again as soon as you’ve had your bottle, I promise.”  
  
With a little struggle, Filip helped removing the sling and Juice instantly curled up closer to Ronea, clearly needing his Papi the most now. Ronea gently arranged them, removed the pacifier and replaced it with the bottle. As with the soothing item, Juice started sucking on the bottle immediately and Filip blinked a couple of times when realising the lad was actually grabbing Ronea’s right breast, squeezing it as he was sucking.  
  
His husband didn’t seem to mind though and Filip refrained from commenting it, but it was disturbing. Not because it was necessarily wrong, but to Filip it looked a lot like Juice unknowlingly gave into yet another need that hadn’t been satisfied. Wee babies grabbed things. They naturally searched for human contact, physically and mentally. They explored their surroundings by touching and tasting and Filip, who’d seen and heard just about every kink and fantasy there was and didn’t condemn anything as long as people did it consensually and didn’t overflow the E.R:s with injuries they could’ve avoided if they’d had half a brain to begin with, instinctively felt this had nothing to do with a kink at all.  
  
Juice grabbed for Ronea’s breast like a baby might his mother’s, only with a grown man’s strength and Ronea made a little grimaze.  
  
“You can hold onto Papi, baby boy, but just a bit lighter, okay? Papi’s breast is sensitive, sweetheart. Yes, that’s better, my little love… Papi loves his baby boy so much…”  
  
Had Juice ever been breastfed? Filip doubted it, but of course, breast feeding wasn’t vital for a good upbringing, at least not in countries where you could get good formula and had clean water. In fact, it was the closeness, the bodily contact and nursing that mattered just as much as the actual nourishment.  
  
Juice clearly acted like a baby now, reaching out and grabbing on an instict that should’ve been long gone, had it been satisfied by loving parents in the first place. Filip wasn’t a psychiatrist and his knowledge about children’s development close to zero, but as he dug through his memory of all the people him and Ronea had bumped into at various clubs and BDSM arrangements throughout the years, the occasional but not _that_ rare glimpses of couples engaging in a breast feeding fetish, just didn’t seem to fit.  
  
As with Juice’s way of dealing with the nappies, the rocking on the floor, the bottles and the sling, squeezing Ronea’s breast reminded a lot of a wee bairn needing to feel his mother. It may look like a fetish, but Filip was pretty sure that the least thing on Juice’s mind right now, even on an unconscious level, was sex or lust in any way at all. The way he touched Ronea wasn’t sensual or even tentative, but very much like a child grabbing his mother in any way he could. And it wasn’t disgusting, nor sweet, but simply heartbreaking.


	51. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Papi tries to deal with a VERY uncomfortable situation...

Lord almighty, how did it come to this? Ronea was proud of himself for not getting startled as Juice had grabbed his breast. It was getting a little sore now, but not bad enough to have the boy let go. The nightmare, especially from what Juice had managed to tell them, was one of the worst Ronea had ever seen the boy have and more than just retreating to the sling and bottle, Juice clearly got so scared he just couldn’t cope with it in another way than acting like an actual baby.  
  
Had Juice been molested as a kid too? Ronea doubted it, because it just didn’t seem to fit and the complete lack of sexual undertones when it came to Juice’s responding to babying didn’t suggest it either. He searched for comfort, nothing more, and moreso, it also seemed completely unplanned. Ronea removed the now empty bottle and put the pacifier back in Juice’s mouth, but the boy dropped it and sank down a little to, _holy shit_ , start suckling on Ronoea’s nipple.  
  
Ronea let out a small, shocked moan, because it was very unexpected and he was sensitive. Juice had hard teeth after all and Ronea really didn’t want to have one breast sore from clenching and the other from his baby boy’s self-soothing sucking.  
  
“Lovey…?”  
  
Filip looked like he was completely lost and Ronea himself was just dumbstricken. Juice was actually sucking on his nipple like a baby, not a lover, and Ronea realised with horror that Juice most certainly wasn’t aware of what he was doing. Filip was sitting on the floor too and had started to rub Ronea’s feet, probably just to have something to do with his temporarily unneeded hands while handling his shocked mind.  
  
They didn’t have to speak in order to communicate. It didn’t hurt much, not physically, but this was an intrusion, however unintended. Ronea swallowed.  
  
“Get me his pacifier…”  
  
Filip took the item in question and handed it over. Ronea put it close to Juice’s lips, trying to make him switch without disturbing him. Ronea felt more than heard the small moan as the pacifier pushed his nipple aside, but Juice wouldn’t switch and Ronea bit his own teeth together when the suckling turned more intense. It wasn’t a nice feeling and as Juice was clearly at least partially asleep and an easy prey for night terrors, removing him would have to be done very carefully.  
  
“Here, baby boy… Here’s your pacifier, sweetie…”  
  
With the softest voice he could muster, cooing and stroking the boy’s head, the sucking finally went looser and after yet another minute or two, time that felt far, far longer, Ronea finally managed to slip the pacifier close enough to hos nipple for the barely conscious boy to let go of his breast.  
  
Juice, after getting his pacifier back, rearranged himself to the original position where he was straddling Ronea’s lap and Ronea adjusted the sling again so that they were both comfortable. Filip also draped a blanket around them and Juice made a small, kittenish noise that bore no discomfort what so ever, only content and sleepiness. He seemed to feel safe. Their baby boy was clean and dry, warm and full. He didn’t feel sick, wasn’t in pain and the panic and anxiety were all gone. He sucked idly on his pacifier, his hands that had been clutched hard around whatever part of Ronea he could reach, were lax now and just rested onto Ronea’s collarbones.  
  
As Juice came to rest again, soon sleeping calmly in Ronea’s arms, Filip held up his phone, smiling.  
  
“Look, lovey.”  
  
Ronea threw a half-closed eye at the screen.  
  
“What?”  
“S’only half past three.”  
“Uh-huh…”  
“Ye don’ realise?”  
“Realise what, Filip? I’ve been a wet nurse dummy for a fucking eternity and I’m starting to question every life choise I’v ever made, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m really not in the mood for guessing. And don’t remind me to behave right now either, because considering how sore my left nipple is, my patience and sense of time are pretty much dead and buried.”  
  
He whispered to not wake up Juice and Filip chuckled softly.  
  
“Yes, ma’m.”  
“Don’t push it, baby, I’m serious.”  
“Sorry. But t’is still almost an hour earlier than last time, lovey. For him to settle.”  
“Oh… Is it?”  
  
He was still sore and annoyed at his husband’s teasing, but this was good news, especially considering it had been one of the worst nightmare episodes they’d yet dealt with. Ronea didn’t feel okay with this though, this wasn’t a fun or cute situation at all. Juice had been caught in such a mentally terrifying moment, he’d went back to the state of an infant to gain comfort and everything was just a complete mess.  
  
“Lovey… Hey, Ronea. Please, darlin’, c’mere, aye?”  
  
With his baby boy still sleeping in his arms, deep enough not to be woken up by the small movement, Ronea let Filip cradle his head. He bent into his husband’s chest, silently crying with the loving hands gently stroking his cheeks and the warm lips resting on his hair.  
  
“Ye go on an’ cry, baby… Ye have a good cry, darlin’, I’ve got ye… Got ye both…”


	52. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times when Papi is number one :) Oh, and I just want to say that I absolutely plan on getting Juice out of this baby state and back to his adult self again, I just don't know exactly when.

Papi was moving away and Juice couldn’t for his life figure out why this made him cry.   
  
“Sweetheart, Papi’s gotta pee, I’ll be back in a sec, love. Daddy’s still here.”  
“C’mere, Juicy. Come to Daddy, lovey.”  
  
With gentle but firm movements, Juice was forced to let go of Papi and he bent down into Daddy’s chest instead, sobbing like it was the end of the world. Daddy shushed and cuddled him.  
  
“S’arlight, lil’ one. I know this is difficult an’ scary for ye, but ye’re alright, Juicyboy. Papi’s back in a minute, ye’re alright, laddie.”  
  
He was. As the half-wake state of his mind went further away from sleep, Juice felt how the instinct thought that Papi was leaving for good, disappeared and was replaced with his adult knowledge. Of course Papi was coming back, he just had to pee, and while Juice still couldn’t control his tears, he no longer felt anxious, only warm and tired. Cuddles with Daddy were just as nice though it couldn’t stop Juice from all but throwing himself back in Papi’s arms the moment he came back to bed.  
  
“Oof!”  
  
Papi was a little taken aback with the force of it, but still held him and Juice heard Daddy chuckle behind him.  
  
“Guess ti’s Papi who wins this morning.”  
  
If it was a competition, which it wasn’t, that would’ve been true. Juice nuzzled Papi’s chest, feeling strangely soothed by the act, the tears even decreasing a bit. Daddy was great, yes, but right now only Papi would do. Papi and the pacifier and Juice had no idea why. It just was and he was too focused at being as close to Papi as possible, to loose himself in his usual questioning and worry.  
  
In fact, if anything, he felt less worried now than usual, only tired. Papi was so warm and cuddly and smelled so good. Nuzzling his bare chest was nice and Juice got a sudden but microshort vision of having nibbled on the soft nipple, but it was over before he could feel any confusion or shame, and he didn’t feel an urge to put his mouth on it now, nor did he recall having it earlier. He just knew he had to be close, as close as possible to Papi right now or the world would crash and burn around him.  
  
“Baby, he feels warm.”  
“I’ll get the thermometer.”  
  
Daddy left the bed and for some reason that didn’t bother Juice as much as when Papi did. Papi kissed his hair.  
  
“You need Papi to change your diaper first, baby boy? Or have you only peed?”  
“Only peed, Papi.”  
“Then we can check your temperature first, love.”   
“Kay, Papi.”  
  
Really, anything would go as long as Papi held him. Daddy came back and let Juice rest as he was in Papi’s arms while slipping the diaper down and get the slicked up thermometer inside. Juice didn’t even whine and it didn’t hurt. He felt completely safe, being nestled on Papi’s chest.  
  
“He’s a wee bit feverish. 100,4.”  
“Oh, well, not that bad then.”  
  
Papi nuzzled his crown.  
  
“Had a rough night, baby boy, so there’s no wonder you’re a little feverish. Papi’s gonna make you a bottle with cherry soup.”  
“Papi stay… _Not_ … going…”  
“I’ll make the bottle, Ronea.”  
  
Daddy? Yes, Daddy could make it! In fact, he would _have_ to make it because there was just no way Papi could move away again. Juice didn’t know why he couldn’t, only that it was absolutely vital for his survival to be close to Papi’s chest.   
  
“Papis’ gotten himself a little snugglebug, hasn’t he, baby boy?”  
“Papi’s staying with Juicy…”  
“Yes, my little love, Papi’s staying. I’m not leaving my baby boy, I’m staying right here with you.”  
“Daddy’s staying too?”  
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but if he must leave, you know he’ll come back once he’s done at work, right?”  
“Daddy… not working.”  
“We’ll see, baby boy. Daddy makes that decision, you know. Daddy always has final say.”  
“Cept… kitchen.”  
  
Papi chuckled and planted a kiss on his forehead.  
  
“True that. We can’t let him near Papi’s pots and pans, now can we?”  
“Nuh-uh. Would be a… disaster, Papi.” 


	53. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love will only get you so far.

Save for the unlikely threat of Teller-Morrow going up in flames from his absence, nothing and no one would stop Filip from being with his boys today. Being away this much from work wasn’t good in the long run, of course, but Tig and the others were understanding and the policy at the club had always been that in times of crisis, you had each others’ backs. Their business often melted together wih the club in that sence.  
  
It was, not quite family in the close sense, but maybe more of relatives who simply had been around each other for a very long time and knew one another well enough to have that trust. It was a given that the pres and boss who’d granted Tig a month off with full pay when Venus had been badly attacked by her piece of shit mother’s even worse boyfriend, and who’d cut his own salary in half and made a fundraising among the members and employees when Bobby had taken a nasty fall from his bike and couldn’t afford the medical bills, was shown the same brotherly love and compassion when he needed it.  
  
There would be no grousing or suspicious questioning of the pres’ and boss’ absence, because the founder of both the club and the business, John Teller, would’ve done the same and his legacy still ruled. In times of need, you would be there for the brother and his loved ones, helping them in any way you could, expecting the same support when you needed it. That was what brotherhood was all about, and what made Teller-Morrow something more than a business and MC club.  
  
TM was unusual in that sence, that it not only accepted queers and transgenders, but also had room for being what too many people would consider intolerable weakness. Not all members were lgbt people, of course, but since Filip had been accepted with only a little struggles as the first openly gay member, the club had slowly and quite naturally progressed without it even seemed like an issue. Tig met Venus even before Ronea came into the picture and with Bobby’s, and of course John Teller’s very openminded ideas, what was still seen as an impossibility in many MC clubs, had become normal already twenty years ago.  
  
It was no one’s business who you fucked or lived with and as John pointed out when a prospect had dared to call Venus a tranny bitch – the prospect in question, of course, hadn’t patched in – that a man who was free to live as he chose, but couldn’t handle other people enjoying _their_ freedom, had no place in TM.  
  
For many years, Filip had been the one cutting others some slack when needed and now it was his turn to get carried in return. It didn’t even matter that his brothers hadn’t met Juice or had seen with their own eyes how much help he needed, because they trusted their pres and his husband, who’d also been known to help out a lot throughout the years. There wasn’t a member or employee, prospect or longterm customer or business partner that hadn’t been treated to Ronea’s hospitality, patient ear, compassionate advices and delicious food on more than one occasion.  
  
Venus was outgoing and the one who often organized fundraisings and parties at the club, while it was perfectly accepted that Ronea prefered to stay in the background and rarely visited his husband’s work unless there was a special occasion. He saw both Venus and Bobby on his own regularly, but as things were now, it had been some time since.  
  
Filip had made the bottle now and went back upstairs. Juice was still a Papi cling-on, of course, and he really looked tired. Did he remember anything from the nightmare or what he’d said in the midst of it? Right now Filip doubted it and it definitely wasn’t a good time to bring it up. The last thing they needed now, was another reason for Juice to feel ashamed again.  
  
“Here, lovey.”  
“Thanks, hon.”  
  
Ronea made a tired smile as he took the bottle. He was sitting up with Juice, the sling attached again for support and it looked pretty comfortable for both Filip’s boys. Juice started sucking as soon as he got the bottle and after a little while, whatever stress still lingering from short moment away from his Papi’s arms, definitely seemed to let go.  
  
Filip handed over the small plastic cup containing Juice’s morning meds as well as an Advil for the fever and an additional sedative. The lad nibbled and swallowed them all, one at the time, without any fuss or difficulties. On one hand, Filip wanted to take Juice to a hospital, a psychiatric ward to be specific, so the lad could get properly examined and evaluated. On the other hand, it was highly unlikely that Juice would tolerate anyone else even being near, let alone touch him, right now. Filip would have to call Wendy Case, of course, but nothing less than a home visit would work now in terms of a professional examination.  
  
Maybe they could make an arrangement of some sort. Trading favors, so to speak. Some serious discount at TM for Case’s and her wife’s cars to use whenever they needed, perhaps…  
  
But to break the silence about Juice’s condition to a third part, again, would be a violation if the lad didn’t agree. Still, he really needed more help and so did Filip and Ronea. The horrific details of what Juice’s nightmare had contained, were making Filip sick to his stomach and had he not already dealt with a truly nasty rape and assault on a loved one, he honestly didn’t know if he’d been able to help Juice at all.  
  
It had been twentyfour years since he’d first known about Ronea’s rape and then found him beaten with his dead kitten and hair brutally chopped off, but Filip doubted it would ever stop hurt to think about it. Aaron had wanted to own Ronea and when he couldn’t, he tried to make sure that his mark would never leave. He’d claimed Ronea’s body with whips and scissors, humiliated and violated him to his core and no matter how much love and patience Filip could offer, or how great a willpower Ronea could muster it had never been enough, because in the end they would’ve destroyed themselves, had it not been for the therapy.  
  
Love could only get you so far, of that Filip was absolutely sure. In some cases, you had to call in the heavy cavalry and as with Ronea in the past, Filip now anguished over how to tell Juice that he, for his own sake, but also for the sake of their relationship, sooner rather than later had to get professional help.


	54. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jus’ be a good man an’ obey yer husband.”

“You gave him something, baby?”  
  
Ronea rose his non-existing eyebrows at his husband, who had the good grace to look a little guilty.  
  
“Nothing outta doc’s orders.”  
“Why didn’t you consult me first?”  
“Because I’m the one with a medical training an’ tha’ means wha’ I say goes, Ronea.”  
  
Filip didn’t _sound_ guilty at all, it was his final say voice and while Ronea was still annoyed, he also desperately needed _this_ Filip right now. The dominant husband who ruled with a gentle, but firm hand and would do what was best for all three of them.  
  
Juice was asleep again, deeply so, and no doubt in huge need of it. He was heavy on Ronea’s chest and didn’t make a sound when Filip removed the sling and helped to get him back in bed. Ronea quickly checked the diaper and as it was wet but not smeared, he did change it but didn’t bother with a thorough washing. That would have to wait for a little while and once Juice was tucked into bed with Ronea’s pillow and sleep tank top as a comfort blanket in his arms to snuggle into, Ronea followed his husband to the bathroom.  
  
Just looking in the mirror, seeing his sore nipple, was enough for Ronea to start sobbing and with the door closed to get some privacy from their sleeping lover, Filip held him close and let him cry. It didn’t last very long though, the tension in Ronea’s body was too great and as he made a small sound he couln’t really name, his husband shushed him.  
  
“I know, lovey, I know… I’ll help ye, don’ worry… Come with me downstairs, our lil’ one wont wake up now.”  
  
An order, albeit very gently presented, but an order nontheless and Ronea followed his husband without question. In the livingroom, Filip told him to sit down on the couch and Ronea obeyed almost instinctively. In this moment, when he felt a greater chaos inside than he’d had in a very long time, what he needed wasn’t explanations or spoken preparations on what would happen, but the silent trust in his husband, manifested in his own obedience and Filip’s calm and composed lead.  
  
“Undress completely an’ then kneel, please.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Ronea was shaking as he complied, not from fear of his husband or worry for having broken a rule, but from utter and complete emotional disturbance and it felt like he’d combust from it. He shivered when Filip touched his shoulder, not the good kind and the grip got firmer to calm him.  
  
“Widen yer knees an’ bow down, arse up, Ronea.”  
“Y-yes, sir.”  
  
The stutter was from sheer anticipation, a need so desperate it filled every pore in his body and had not Filip been there to handle it, Ronea knew he’d end up in a very dark place of his mind again and cut or burn himself. The need for it was so strong now, Ronea wasn’t even sure if his natural need to _obey_ could trump it.  
  
“F-filip, please… I… I don’t… _Help me…_ ”  
“I will, Ronea. I got ye, baby, jus’ be a good man an’ obey yer husband.”  
  
When he didn’t answer, Ronea received a small slap on his left buttock.  
  
“Answer yer husband, Ronea.”  
“Yes, sir. I… I want to obey. I’ll be good.”  
“Thank ye, lovey. I’m gonnae take such good care o’ ye now, so take a deep breath an’ relax.”  
  
The chastity device wasn’t a surprise as much as the probing of his ass. Ronea whimpered but eagerly accepted the slight burn of the largest butt plug he owned, only slicked up the bearest amount needed not to cause injuries. It also made him achingly hard and Filip attached the straps with soft hands to connect the plug with the chastity device that soon was snug around both Ronea’s cock and balls.  
  
“Good boy, Ronea. Now stand as ye are an’ wait.”  
“Y-yes, sir.”  
  
Knowing he’d get spanked but not how or with what instrument, made Ronea’s stomach tickle nervously, both in worry and from the need he couldn’t bring into words now. Not only did he feel  unable to make any decision or have an opinion on anything right now, but he didn’t even have to. Filip was his dominant husband and he’d taken over completely now. It didn’t matter what Ronea thought or felt, only what Filip decided was best for him.  
  
Finally, Filip patted his lap and Ronea scrambled to bend over. The familiar hands helped him to adjust into a steady position and he shivered as he got a soft stroke over his shoulders.  
  
“Ye will not count or protest, Ronea. Is tha’ clear?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“An’ ye will not cry until I say so.”  
  
What? That wasn’t how they did this, but Ronea swallowed.  
  
“N-no, sir.”  
  
As if knowing how confusing it was, Filip once again petted him, somehow soothing the unusual order.  
  
“Good boy.”  
_“Oh!”_  
  
The first strike took Ronea by surprise, not only because he’d not known exactly when Filip would start, but because of the instrument used. It was the lexan paddle and it had been some time since Ronea had gotten a taste of it. It hurt a lot and Filip didn’t even use that much force. After a few strikes, he stopped to rub Ronea’s skin.  
  
“This is how I wan’ my husband when he’s outta control… Meek an’ obedient over my lap, honoring his vows instead o’ getting lost in nasty thoughts…”  
  
Ronea cried out as another half a dozen strikes fell and Filip grabbed the nape of his neck with steady but soft fingers, pausing again.  
  
“Ye’re alright, Ronea. I’ve got ye… Jus’ no crying yet.”  
  
Filip kept spanking and talking to him in rounds, alternating between them whenever he felt it suitable.  
  
“I’m not gonnae let ye get consumed by guilt or confusion from Juice suckling on yer nipple, lovey. Ye dinnae know he would an’ t’is _not_ yer fault, nor his, ye hear me?”  
“Y-yes, sir…”  
  
The spanking continued and Ronea was outright sobbing now, barely able to hold the tears back. Filip made a soothing hum.  
  
“I’ll protect ye both from ending up in tha’ situation again, lovey, an’ ye handled it the best ye could. I donno if _I’d_ been able to handle it any differently. Ye _cannae_ expect yerself to be prepared for something like tha’ or find the right way o’ dealing with it there an’ then.”  
“F-felt so _wrong_ , Filip…”  
“I know, baby, an’ it _was_ wrong since it made ye feel uncomfortable, but tha’ doesn’t mean ye’re wrong or disgusting or anything like it. He sucked pretty hard, dinnae he?”  
  
Ronea couldn’t answer before he’d had another round of strikes and the pain helped.  
  
“Yes… Yes, Filip, he… he did. It hurt…”  
“Wha’ do ye think could’ve happened, had ye tried an’ force him off?”  
“He… I think he could’ve bitten me.”  
“He could’ve accidently hurt ye, right?”  
“Y-yes…”  
“Hold tha’ thought, Ronea.”  
  
He was given a pillow now, which was more than needed, as Filip delivered five hard strikes before pausing again.  
  
“Why couldna ye force him off, Ronea?”  
“C-cause he… he could’ve hurt me… more, sir.”  
  
Knowing which way to address his husband seemed to come naturally in these situations. When it was _sir_ , _Filip_ or maybe nothing at all. There was no rule for it, somehow it wasn’t necessary. Filip slipped his hand down between Ronea’s now stinging buttocks and just brushed a finger all the way down his cleft.  
  
“An’ would it been good for ye, if Juice had accidently hurt ye?”  
“No, sir.”  
“So, in other words, ye did wha’ was the less bad thing in a very difficult an’ uncomfortable situation?”  
“I… Yes, I… I think so, sir. But... Ow!”  
  
Another series of swift, burning slaps interrupted what was about to become another dive into guilt and shame and Ronea cried, each lash of pain digging into his skin, burying underneath it and spreading through his body. Filip stopped again and rubbed his lower back.  
  
“Had it been good for either o’ ye, had Juice bitten ye harder an’ caused a real injury?”  
“No, sir. No, it wouldn’t…”  
“So is it yer fault then, tha’ he dinnae let go?”  
“No, sir.”  
“An’ how did ye react once ye realised wha’ he was doing?”  
“I… I asked you for the pacifier, sir.”  
“Aye, ye did, lovey. No more _sir_ now, Ronea. Alright?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Good. We’ve stated tha’ ye handled this in the best possible way ye could’ve, not to risk further injuries, ‘cause the thing is, lovey, I probably would’ve reacted like ye, only with ten times less composure. I’m not lecturing ye for letting Juice suck on yer nipple, Ronea. I’m spanking ye to remind ye tha’ in this house an’ this relationship, I’m yer protector an’ _I’m_ responsible for yer well-being an’ for helping ye to deal with _anything_ tha’ hurts ye or make ye feel unsafe.”  
“F-feel so… disgusting, Filip… Can’t help it…”  
“I know, baby, but _ye’re_ not disgusting even if ye _feel_ tha’ way righ’ now. Sometimes our feelings don’ tell us the whole truth, Ronea, an’ this is one o’ those occasions. Aye, ye _feel_ disgusting an’ no, it _wasn’t_ okay for Juice to force tha’ upon ye without consent. But tha’ doesn’t make either o’ ye _disgusting people_ in any way.”  
“But he… he didn’t know, Filip…”  
“Wich means he may or may not even have wanted it in the first place, right? Right?”  
“Right.”  
“Juice had a nightmare so horrifying, the only thing he could do to handle it, was to shut down an’ act like a wee bairn. Ye dinnae _let Juice_ do something he wanted, lovey, ye jus’ tried to handle the nightmare tha’ was controlling _him_ an’, quite frankly, all three o’ us. An’ ye did so with an incredible strenght an’ dignity, took control over both Juice’s anxiety _an’_ yer own discomfort an’ I couldna be more proud o’ ye.”  
  
The last strikes were more for reinforcement than anything else, to keep Ronea’s mind where the understanding, the praise and admiration were given and as he felt how his ass turned to something akin to a juicy windfall, the tension left and with it the shame and guilt he now knew he never should’ve carried around in the first place.  
  
Once Filip stopped spanking and started to cradle him in his arms so he could cry, the chaos that had threteaned to eat him alive, was leashed and put back in it’s box where it couldn’t control his mind anymore. The absolute relaxtion also had the sometimes unfortunate effect of turning Ronea into a needy mess, but now it wasn’t a bad time for it.  
  
Filip could sense it, removed the plug and put Ronea onto his back on the floor, rubbing his own cock along the cleft to get fully hard, which at whis point with so much tension between both their bodies, wasn’t a problem. Ronea desperately wanted this, just as his husband, to confirm once again who was the dominant and who was the submissive in this marriage. Filip slicked himself thoroughly and then entered him almost roughly, because that was what they both needed right now, Ronea most of all.  
  
With his cock still locked, Ronea couldn’t come and that only served to increase his arousal. The leaking head was so swollen the skin looked like it could burst. The thrusts were hard and turned all but relentless, getting Ronea in such a state he couldn’t even beg to come, just mewl and gasp in glorious haze of being completely controlled and loved. Only when he could barely make a sound anymore, did Filip remove the ring and took Ronea to sit on his lap, not moving but simply being cradled while still pinned on Filip’s cock.  
  
“Come, lovey… Come for me, husband…”  
  
The order in this gentle but still rough voice was all it took and Ronea gasped and shook as orgasm hit him and ran through his body as his ass clenched around Filip’s cock filling it with his cum. He rode it out, close to the point where Filip could see he was starting to become too sensitive but he wouldn’t stop until he could feel Filip softening inside him.  
  
He still moaned softly as Filip slipped out and rearranged them so that Ronea was the little spoon. They laid like that for a little while until he shivered and Filip reached for the blanket by the couch to drape around them both.  
  
“How are ye feeling, baby?”  
“Better…”  
  
He had to think for a moment, but yes, he actually felt good again. Really good. Safe, back in a role that he’d chosen to take on and the thought of what had happened earlier on that night, no longer made him anxious or confused and he smiled.  
  
“How’s it that you’re so damn good at knowing what I need, Filip?”  
“Lots o’ practise an’ patience, lovey.”  
“God, I love you so much, old man…”  
“An’ I ye… Ye’re a bloody marvelous man, Ronea, I’ll tell ye.”  
  
Filip nuzzled his neck, letting out a sigh.  
  
“Cannae believe how lucky I am for having ye… Would be lost without ye…”


	55. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy makes a promise he's really not the right person to make.

His mind was like a see-saw today. His body and feelings too and everything just felt chaotic, sore and unreal. Everything except Papi. Daddy too, to some extent, but he was somehow in the periphery, a guardian keeping watch, making sure it was safe for Juice to be cuddled even if the world was falling to pieces. And when Daddy told about the doctor, that’s exactly how it felt.   
  
A doctor. Someone who wasn’t Daddy or Papi, to see him like this. The only part of Juice’s adult mind that seemed to be awake and present now, was the shame. The realisation that someone, another adult person – not to mention one with authority – would see him, a thirty-year-old man in diapers, finding out he was sucking on bottles and pacifiers, acting like a baby… Maybe even tell his lovers that he had to go to hospital, most certainly a crazy wing, where he’d be all alone. Again.  
  
“Baby boy, sweet Juicy, please, listen to Daddy and Papi.”  
  
Papi rocked him in his arms and as Juice sobbed into his chest, he recalled having suckled on the man’s breast and the shame and self-hatred washed over him again.  
  
“I’ll n-never do that again, Papi! P-please, Papi, don’t send me away, I d-didn’t mean to, I know t’was wrong, I didn’t know I was d-doing it, I swear! Please, don’t hate me, Papi…”  
“Oh, Juicy, I don’t hate you. Papi loves you so, so much and I know you didn’t mean to suckle on my breast like that. Baby boy, you had an absolutely devestating nightmare, you were panicking and reacted purely on instinct, I could tell.”  
  
Now Daddy closed his arms around them as well, nuzzling Juice’s neck.  
  
“Papi’s fine, lil’ one. Daddy too. We’re not angry or disappointed with ye, lovey, an’ we’re not trying to punish ye or push ye away. Papi’s right, ye weren’t conscious of wha’ ye were doing in tha’ moment an’ we could never _ever_ think badly of our Juicyboy for it. But ye need more help than wha’ we alone can give ye, lovey.”  
“N-no hospitals, Daddy! _Please_ , no hospitals…”  
“Shh, lovey… Try an’ calm down a little, aye? S’not good for yer fever to get too worked up, lad. Take a deep breath.”  
  
Obeying was still his major urge and Juice pulled air down his lungs, sobbing a little with it as Daddy rubbed gentle circles onto his belly.  
  
“Good boy, Juicy. Tha’s better. Can ye listen to Daddy for a lil’ while, aye? Daddy an’ Papi both have been admitted to hospital an’ we’ve gone through therapy as well. When I got my face cut, I dinnae think I needed to talk about it first. Jus’ wanted to forget about it an’ I convinced myself I could avoid mirrrors altogether an’ somehow learn to ignore other’s looks, which was a lot easier if I was drunk. Tha’s how Daddy was raised to deal with problems, Juicy. To ignore’em an’ take to the bottle.”  
  
Juice felt how the words and soothing voice didn’t exactly curb his fear, but at least made him want to listen more than he wanted to only give in to the fear. Daddy kept petting him with his warm, steady hands.  
  
“Ye, me an’ Papi all have different backgrounds an’ problems, Juicy. Tryin’ an’ compare’em to one another wouldn’t be entirely right, but there are similarities. We all had nasty things being done to us an’ we all reacted like _men_ an’ tha’s not a good thing in situations like those. Ye know why?”  
“N-no, Daddy.”  
“Because, as we grow from boys to men, most of us an’ certainly the three of us, learn how to shut down and stop expressing our feelings, unless it involves violence, drinking or sports. Women an’ girls are taught to express an’ explore an’ _share_ their problems an’ emotions, while we’re expected to act as if we’re bloody robots. So, as we grow older an’ haven’t learned how to deal with our emotions in a healthy way because we’ve been told they’re signs of weakness an’ something to be ashamed of, it often gets really hard for us to seek help when we need it the most. An’ for ye, with yer background in foster homes an’ all the shite ye went through tha’ most people are spared, I cannae even imagine how alien an’ dangerous it must feel like.”  
“D-don’t wanna talk about it, Daddy…”  
“I know, lovey, an’ believe me, if I could make it all good without any talking, I would, but unfortunately, tha’s not how healing works. Take my word for it, an’ Papi’s as well.”  
“Can’t be alone, Daddy… N-not away from you…”  
“Ye’re not gonnae be away from us, lovey, _if_ ye’re admitted into a ward. Ye’ll not be alone, I promise. Either one o’ us or both will be with ye.”  
  
Juice sniffled but looked up at Daddy.  
  
“Promise?”  
“Daddy promises, lovey.”


	56. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some serious husband talking or: why Ronea never should trip on acid or be around Presbyterians or jews while being drunk. 
> 
> (No nazi shit, I promise! We have no idea whom original Ron Tully is and we've never heard of Sons Of Anarchy or Kurt Sutter and definitely not Aryan Brotherhood in this universe!)

“Why did you say that, Filip?”  
“Say wha’?”  
“That he wouldn’t have to be alone in a ward. You can’t promise something like that.”  
  
Filip rubbed a hand over his face.  
  
“Wendy Case… She’s got connections.”  
“Yeah. And something called legal responsibilities, regulations and… fucking _laws_. You of all people should know that a psychiatric evaluation can’t be done with family around all time.”  
  
Ronea felt upset now, because this wasn’t only unusual for his husband, but completely out of order and just against everything he used to be. Filip gritted his teeth as he stood, leaning onto the kitchen countertop while Ronea made coffee and their baby boy miracurasly slept in after the rough start.  
  
“Juice has a good health insurance. Despite how little he cares ‘bout himself, he’s responsible with tha’ stuff an’ he’s got a hell of a lot o’ savings too.”  
“I know.”  
  
Helping Juice to pay his bills had meant getting access to his account and while the boy didn’t live like pauper, he certainly didn’t spoil himself. He had a high salary, no student debts and no loans. He owned his apartment and the only thing he put any extra money on, was a gym membership, occasional tech stuff for his computer and things for his beloved bike. Otherwise, there were no signs of expensive or even middle-classy habits, vacations, restaurant bills or anything remotely close to self-indulgence.  
  
His salary was good, more than good, but Juice’s lifestyle didn’t reflect that at all. It seemed as if he had no concept of self-indulgence what so ever and the only exception to that, was the health insurance, if you could even put something like that in said category, especially if you didn’t even make use if it when it was needed.  Ronea rubbed his own arms.  
  
“It’s his money, Filip. We can’t force him to admit himself to a good hospital, just because we know he’s got the means to pay.”  
“I forced _ye_ to go to therapy an’ ye dinnae have half as good an insurance. Or savings.”  
“That was different.”  
“How?”  
“I was twentyone and had a father.”  
“On paper. Fred may not have kicked ye out, but he sure as hell dinnae lift a finger to help ye when ye needed him. Aye, he was a widower, but he wasn’t the only one in mourning.”  
“It’s not his fault what Aaron did.”  
“Dinnae say it was, lovey, but where was he while ye went to therapy, huh? Looking up fucking gay conversion shite ‘cause he was more concerned with thinking ye not going to heaven, than how ye felt from being bruised up?”  
“As if your old man’s any better.”  
“Did I say he was, Ronea? Did I?”  
  
Filip looked almost angry now and Ronea looked away.  
  
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry, Filip.”  
“Thank ye. T’is not a competition, lovey. Last time I spoke to Patrick, as ye know, was on Christmas day as he was drunk an’ bawling ‘bout how unfair life had been to him. Dead wife, gay, absent an’ most of all only son, since God hadn’t granted him the ten bloody bairns he deserved.”  
  
Ronea snorted.  
  
“Yeah, how dare any woman have labor complications and ruin her uterus instead of just magically heal. Sorry, love, but your old man aint the brightest crayon in the box either.”  
“Neither of them are, which is why we’ve never turned to them for guidance an’ most certainly wont now. An’ I know we’ve agreed not to promise things we cannae live up to, but maybe there’s a chance we can.”  
  
Ronea wanted to believe his husband, but it was difficult this time, because to Ronea this looked a lot more like wishful thinking and desperation than a doable solution.  
  
“How are we, or Juice, supposed to explain our relationship? Or the diapers, the bottles and this whole… de-aging thing? They’ll want _us_ locked up too, preferably miles away from Juice, and even if they’d miracurously find us sane, it still means a broken promise and I don’t wanna think about how he’s gonna react to that, Filip. He needs help, I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t see how a psychiatric ward would be the answer.”  
“There are other options.”  
“Like what?”  
“Home visits, for a start. Ye know Wendy’ll do tha’ if she can.”  
“But she’s not a psychiatrist.”  
“No, but she can give a first professional opinion, maybe even find someone within our community who could help.”  
“Sorry, but it seems highly unlikely that the northern Cali BDSM community would have a member who’s not only a psychiatrist living on convenient distance, but also with the means, time and will to help out, no matter how good an insurance Juice has.”  
“Well, ye don’ have to believe it’ll work or even like it, but tha’s the best thing I can think of, unless ye have any better ideas, ‘cause then I’m all ears, Ronea.”  
  
He didn’t, that was the problem and Ronea just shook his head. He was tired, bodily and mentally and the nursing dummy thing was just the tip of the iceberg. But obeying when Ronea wasn’t at all sure that his husband _had_ made the right decision was hard enough to do for himself. It was the most difficult part of obedience, to let the experience of wise decisions rather than a feeling of worry and doubt over a present decision no one really knew how it would turn out, take the lead.  
  
To do it while also having to put up a face of an absolute confidence that really wasn’t there, to keep Juice from shattering completely, came dangerously close to deception and far, far out of Ronea’s comfort zone. Filip’s as well.  
  
Ronea walked up to him, leaning into his arms.  
  
“I don’t like it, baby. It scares me, feels… not _entirely_ wrong but definitely not right either and this could even break our relationship with Juice, or worse, if it doesn’t work out.”  
“But ye still agree t’is the best option?”  
“Highly begrudgingly, yes. On one condition.”  
“Name it.”  
“I accept convincing, or forcing, Juice into professional, medical help, but only if you never make any decisions _within_ that helping, without my consent. I know, you’re the one with the medical training and you know how it is to deal with recovery from a trauma, but you don’t know how it feels to be in a longterm abusive situation, or being raped.”  
“I don’t an’ I can only agree, Ronea. In all things concerning dealing with Juice’s problems, once he’s admitted to professional help, we’re equals. I won’ have final say in his treatment an’ I’ll rely on ye for guidance, so long as we don’ confuse Juice.”  
“Showing him that exception in our relationship wouldn’t be beneficial for him at all, so I absolutely agree.”  
“I also wan’ another thing from ye.”  
“Yeah?”  
  
Filip pulled him close.  
  
“Ye’re gonnae take extra good care o’ yerself too, lovey. We’re both tired, aye, but ye’re a lot more sensitive to stress than I am an’ have taken care o’ Juice on another level. Ye’re not _weak_ , Ronea, an’ certainly not any less capable o’ dealing with this, but ye’ve been almost completely confined to our home an’ the role o’ caretaker for a little too long now. I wan’ ye to pick up some o’ yer old routines, like going to the gym, go for a ride in yer car, see Venus, treat yerself to fashion I know shite about, eating out or just get wasted in some shabby ol’ bar an’ then come home puking in the hallway, ruining the carpet or something.”  
  
Ronea laughed and shook his head.  
  
“Well… Mr. Telford, is there anything I’m _not_ allowed to do?”  
“Try not to break any laws. Or bones. An’ also, please stay outta arguments with strangers, especially insecure jocks, maws having a night off their toddlers or jews.”  
“What? _Jews_?”  
“Ye’ve forgotten ‘bout tha’ time when ye tried to convince those poor students tha’ shellfish would make’em go to Hell?”  
“They were _jews_? Fuck, they reminded me about Presbyterians... On the other hand, I don’t remember much about that night. Soccer moms, though… They deserve sass.”  
  
Filip rolled his eyes.  
  
“Ye’re already as sassy as they come an’ ye get ten times worse while wasted. Oh, an’ _no acid_.”  
“Seriously, Filip, now you’re insulting me. I haven’t had acid in more than fifteen years.”  
“Fifteen days, fifteen years or fifteen _decades_ , it doesn’t matter. I never wannae try an’ convince ye tha’ ye’re _not a cat_ ever again.”


	57. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi in deep thoughts over his dough.

Was it selfish of him? Wanting his _big_ little boy back? Ronea’s day was, if not half as bad as Juice’s, not very nice. Waiting for the doctor’s visit was a nervous matter, especially since Filip had to work and wouldn’t be back until late. It was one hell of a luck that Wendy Case had time for them after hours to begin with.  
  
Ronea sighed over the dough that was supposed to become breadrolls but mostly looked like lumps of beige play-doh. His mind that usually loved this routine simply wasn’t with him today. His thoughts were scattered yet at the same time focused on a single matter that happened to be the man – or boy – sleeping on the couch in the kitchen.  
  
As with lots of things in house, the couch didn’t really match and looked a bit out of place, but Ronea had always liked that about his home. It had no style, no class and the inventory consisted of mostly second-hand and home-made stuff. Curtains and cushions made on his own sewing-machine, chairs planed, sanded and re-painted by his hands and the patch-work cover on their bed had been his wedding gift to Filip – and himself.   
  
He loved his home and loved maintaining it whether he made carpentry, fixed a leaking roof or filled the pantry with cans, preserves, dried food and cordials. The house and garden was his work and he ruled supreme over them. Filip couldn’t make any demands or even step in unless he was asked to or forced by necesseties and when that happened, he still had to follow Ronea’s rules. Filip had no right to demand certain food, ways of doing stuff or set timelines for when things had to be done. He could ask, but that was it.   
  
The dough had started to cooperate a little now and Ronea worked it with strong, skilled hands. Letting him be a fulltime home-maker, had been one of Filip’s greatest gifts to him. It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, they’d often been short on money, but Filip had never ever complained or treated him like anything but an equal in terms of money. They’d never told anyone, not even close friends and especially not BDSM community associates, about the monetary arrangement where Ronea had free hands to handle Filip’s income pretty much how he saw fit and the bread-winner himself was the one to have what was more or less a sort of allowance.  
  
That was one of the things Ronea loved the most about his husband. The fact that he was so skilled-oriented and wouldn’t put his own ego over what was the best thing to do. Obeying a person who’s mind worked like that, was a privilege.  
  
Thinking of Filip was calming and helped to put a stop on a potential thought train of worries about Juice. Filip ruled with a gentleness Ronea had not yet seen any comparison to in anyone else. The man was in many ways a natural top, and still his dominant side always made the decisions with Ronea’s – and now Juice’s – well-being firstly in mind. Ruling over them made Filip feel safe, not powerful, because he didn’t need their submission to feel strong. He needed the solid proofs of his ruling being more beneficial for his subs than the alternative. If Ronea and Juice didn’t really need his guidance, the whole point of ruling would be gone.   
  
It was also very much about trust. Filip’s dad had never had much trust in his son, always nagging on him, questioning every little decision and constantly finding reasons to pick on something. In the eyes of Patrick Telford, Filip had never been good enough no matter what he did. Not that it stopped the old bastard from accepting help with finances from his son and son-in-law every now and then. Ronea thought Filip was too kind on the man, but when their own bills were paid, the household expenditure and saving account was set and they’d split up the rest of their money between them, Ronea had no right to tell his husband how to spend that money. If he wanted to help his old man with the electricity bill because Patrick had spent his pension at the pub, it was Filip’s decision to make as long as he didn’t ask Ronea for money afterwards because he’d not made a budget.  
  
Trust… It was certainly not only about money, Ronea thought as the dough finally agreed to be formed into small rolls. Juice’s amount of trust was absolutely fucked up. On one hand, he allowed his lovers to care for him in the most intimate ways, submitting himself to things that were extreme no matter how much of a sub you were. They had no safe words in this situation, because it was about as far from sex and role-play as one could get and Juice couldn’t make actual decisions about himself anymore.  
  
In a way, as much as it was horrifying and risky for Juice, Ronea had also seen at least a glimpse of what drove his lover to this extremes. The need and longing for trust, a safe haven, had downright exploded within his baby boy and left him in shatters he had little chance of picking up and absolutely none to put back together on his own. The fear of abandonment laid so deep and had so many faces that two people loving him simply couldn’t fix that.  
  
Being little was a coping mechanism and Ronea felt uncomfortable to say the least about his own feelings on the matter right now. On one hand he wanted nothing more than having his lover back, to have the grown-up Juice again and not having to submit himself to this role of caregiver where his lover, although unintentionally and clearly not by choice, viewed him as some kind of substitute mother. On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine putting a stop to it by force, since it helped Juice to accept help he desperately needed to get better.  
  
The homemaker glared at the rolls and covered them with a towel to work before putting some coffee on. His hands felt a little stiff today and with a sigh, Ronea admitted to himself that his husband was right. While acid probably wasn’t a good idea, he definitely needed some time off.


	58. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi support <3

The day seemed to move in slow motion. Papi, who smelled like baking, had helped him with a shower and changed the bedsheets in the afternoon and dressed in a tanktop and sweats, Juice felt a little less babylike on the bed. The cover helped too and it was impossible to see he was wearing a diaper. The bottle and pacifier were removed and so were any other items that could suggest Juice had been babied for a while. He didn’t really know how long he waited, time was still quite blurry as his fever hadn’t went down and while the benzos made him feel sluggish and slow, at least they took the worst anxiety away.  
  
Papi tucked a couple of extra pillows behind his back and kissed his hair.  
  
“There you go, baby boy. Comfortable?”  
“Yes, Papi.”  
“Good. You need to go through the visit again?”  
“Please?”  
  
Papi smiled.  
  
“You’re gonna meet Dr. Case and she’s gonna talk to you about how you feel generally and how you feel about the idea of getting some more help.”  
“You mean like shrinks?”  
  
The idea was still very difficult to accept, but at least he didn’t get a panic attack now. Papi stroke his hair.  
  
“It’s okay to feel scared, nervous and uncomfortable, Juice. I was terrified when finally got help.”  
“For how long?”  
“Well… Papi had a lot of problems, some similar to yours and then others that were really bad too.”  
“I’m not… _that_ bad, right? Just… panic attacks an’ the food thing.”  
“Oh, sweetheart…”  
  
Papi made his sad smile and sighed. He sat down on the bed and put a knee up to rest his chin on, looking at Juice with his beautiful eyes.  
  
“If you were a child or mentally challenged, I might lie to you and say that it’s all gonna feel better if you just get medical help, but you’re my intelligent, adult baby boy with some really bad shit in your luggage, so I wont disrespect you by treating you as anything less.”  
  
Another smile, but there was sadness in it, one that seemed old and going far back to a time where Juice hadn’t been a part of his life. He sighed.   
  
“Look, if I hadn’t been through what I’ve been through, if I was another kind of man, maybe I’d say that you’ll be fine, but I’m not gonna lie to you, Juice. I love and respect you too much for that. What I can say, is that no person who’s gotten good help and _has support_ from friends or family, regrets it. At least I’ve never heard of anyone who did and I most certainly don’t, even if it was one of the singular most painful thing I’ve ever done.”  
  
Juice couldn’t help but laughing, but it sounded more like a hopeless rattle.  
  
“You’re not helping, Papi.”  
“You mean I’m not sugarcoating.”  
  
The smile again, this time brighter. There was a cynical glimpse in Papi’s eyes, speaking of experiences most people were lucky enough to know nothing about. He took Juice’s hand.  
  
“As I said, I love and respect you too much to bullshit you. And I don’t know if you believe me or not, but neither me nor Daddy think you’re stupid or weak or a coward. It takes some serious balls to admit when you can’t handle things on your own, baby boy, and you may not feel strong or brave at all right now, but trust me, you are. Many people, especially men, would rather give up and off themselves rather than embarging on a road of actual healing. God’s sake, Juice, I’ve met men who’d refuse fucking heart medication because ‘ _the ticker will stop tickin’ one it’s time is up, brother’_.”  
  
Juice chuckled a little at the exaggerated Ohio accent and Papi rolled his eyes.  
  
“Sometimes I wonder why the hell I’m with men at all, considering how illogical we are.”  
“You’re not illogical, Papi.”  
“Not now, my little love, but I certainly used to be.”


	59. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy Case's connections turn out to be quite the surprise to Filip and if he was worried about violating boundaries before...
> 
> Oh, and just a quick thing: I have absolutely NO experience what so ever with the US health system since I live in a country with free, universal heath care and haven't even traveled to a country who hasn't, so if you find some - or all - of my takes on the somatical and/or psychiatrical treatment strange, inaccurate or just stupid, just know that the idea of the US form of individualized health insurance - or lack there of - is completely foreign to me and I really don't have the patience to spend much time researching to get it accurate enough, since it's such a tricky and tedious subject. 
> 
> But if you do find some things just FUBAR, then tell me - or just ignore my ignorance ;)

He wasn’t sure if what he’d done and was about to do, counted as going behind Ronea’s back. Filip wasn’t used to keep secrets from his husband and there was hardly any problem he didn’t feel like he could talk to Ronea about.  
  
“Excuse me, but… have we met before?”  
“Not tha’ I can remember, doc. No.”  
  
It was more than a little hypocritical, that was for sure, to make an appointment with a psychiatrist without telling Ronea, while Filip had practically forced his then boyfriend to get professional help. If this was God’s or the universe’s way of getting back on him on the behalf or Ronea, it was as fucked up as it was well-deserved.  
  
“Strange… I could swear that… Nevermind, Mr. Telford, how can I be of help?”  
“Well, Wendy Case recommended ye, so… Small world…”  
“How so?”  
  
The woman whom he’d only heard of, but never met in person, who also happened to be one of the key reasons why Filip even had a chance with Ronea, was sitting here right in front of him, on the other side of the desk and not until now, had Filip connected the name Tara K. Gregory with _Knowles._ He’d seen her from distance, probably while he’d been walking around the area where Ronea went for therapy and while he’d never talked to her, knew her full name or even seen her close, Filip instantly knew who she was.  
  
For a moment, Filip considered pretending he didn’t know, but that seemed pretty hypocritical and he’d already filled that account to bursting. He cleared his throat.  
  
“I think ye treated my then boyfriend, now husband, more than twenty years ago. Yer name was… Knowles back then, right?”  
“Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss a patient, even a former one, with you.”  
“Of course not, I just… Dinnae expect this…”  
“If there’s a problem, I can refer you to another doctor.”  
“No… no there’s no problem, doc. Jus’ a wee bit unexpected. An’ I’m not here about my husband or myself, but… our partner.”  
  
While trying to keep it as brief as possible and still add enough details to give Dr. Gregory – or Knowles – a clear picture of the issue, Filip soon found himself feeling like he was purging. Figuratively. He may not know this woman, maybe she wasn’t even a good psychiatrist anymore – people did change, after all – and it was just fucked up that he’d ran into her of all the psychiatrists in the area, but professional secrecy abided to him as well as any other client and while the guilt for leaving so much of Juice’s wounds open for a stranger to see was there, as well as the uncomfortable realisation that Ronea once had spilled his guts for her, the concern for his lil’ one’s health was greater.  
  
“I know tha’ the reasonable thing to do, is to get’im into a psychiatric ward, but…”  
“You’re worried the age-regression might be too severe?”  
  
Filip nodded.  
  
“Aye. We’re lovers, alright, an’ in our respective… roles, we’re having certain names for each other tha’ we don’ use in public, but this aint nothing like it.”  
“You mean as in nothing like a, for example, daddy kink acted out between consensual adults in a highly unconventional relationship?”  
  
Filip realised he must look surprised, as the doc smiled and folded her hands together.  
  
“Mr. Telford, I remember some of my patients vividly and how they would go from feelings of shame, emotional confinement and self-hatred, to confident, brave people determined to live their lives on their own terms, instead of submitting to roles and lifestyles that simply weren’t for them, despite what society says. I don’t judge alternative lifestyles so long as they’re not a health risk.”  
  
Filip stared at her for a moment, but the tension he’d built up started to decrease and he swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat.  
  
“I’m so worried ‘bout him, doc. Worried ‘bout Ronea too. We’ve not been in this relationship for tha’ long, ye know. An’ I’m in charge of it, but this… Christ, I’m an old ER assistant, not even a trained nurse, let alone a psychiatric one an’ he’s just… so _scared_. Ye do family sessions as well, right?”  
“I have a waiting list…”  
“ _Please_ , doc? Jus’… see him once an’ give yer professional opinion before we’re forced to admit him somewhere? He’s so frail, I don’ think he could take even leaving the house righ’ now an’ I honestly don’ care wha’ it costs.”  
  
Filip blew his nose, not even caring about the way he was more or less bawling now, sniffling almost like Juice would and he looked at the woman.  
  
“Knowles… sorry, Gregory, I’m not asking for a miracle, jus’ a professional view from someone reliable, tha’ wont scare the living shite outta our lover. Please, we’re desperate, an’ I promised him we wouldna leave’im alone. An’ aside from all tha’, my husband’s probably gonnae be _livid_ when he realises whom I’ve talked to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, I realise that the likelihood of Filip just happening to be referred to Ronea's old therapist is more than a little miniscule, but hey, this is fan fiction and I also really liked Tara in the show, so please bear with me and my weirdness.


	60. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always easy being a dom, and sometimes it's even more difficult being the sub.

It wasn’t intentional, it was complete accident, a one in a million kind of accident that his husband hadn’t tried to, or wanted to cause. It wasn’t meant as being careless or deceptive and it was good that Filip had decided to talk to someone and get some guidance, but…  
  
“Ronea, please, say something?”  
“Shut up.”  
  
Ronea couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that tone and language at his husband, nor doing it without feeling instantly guilty about it. He spoke very low, felt his teeth press hard together as he tried to focus.  
  
His rational mind knew Filip was right. It hadn’t been intentional and he had every right to seek out medical help if needed to, only this was the first time he’d done so without telling Ronea, which made it worse since it was on Juice’s behalf and they were _both_ his tops. And out of all shrinks he’d went to _her_. Tara Knowles, apparantly now Tara Gregory, had given advices to _his_ husband and what were the odds?  
  
“Ronea, I…”  
“Don’t. Just… _don’t_.”  
  
He put his hand up, cutting his husband off right away. He couldn’t bear to hear anything at the moment, had to digest what had just been said, to try and get himself calm before he did or said something he’d regret. He took a deep breath and forced himself to face Filip.  
  
“Juice is asleep. He’s got fever and he’s already eaten, so there’s no point in waking him up until Dr. Case comes. He had an Advil before napping and I’ve changed him recently. I’ve prepared a salad for tonight, there’s fresh bread on the countertop, a brie and cold cuts in the fridge and Juice’s nutritional drink for later.”  
  
He sounded horribly calm and it looked like Filip was about to answer and Ronea once again held up his hand, seeing the attempt to talk disappear in a second.  
  
“Right now I’m too angry with you to have any kind of conversation without screaming the house down, so if I were you, I’d just listen and nod.”  
  
A nod and Ronea took a deep breath.  
  
“I realise you hadn’t planned on getting _her_ involved, but you still went behind my back and I was already about ready to snap from all that’s happened lately, so this is not a good time for explanations, excuses, questions or orders, Filip. You may be the religious one in this marriage, but I swear to God I’ll raise fucking hell if I have to listen no another explanation from you right now. You broke a rule and while I’m sure I’ll be able to hear you out and eventually forgive you, probably sooner than I’d like to, _now_ is not the right time, you hear me?”  
  
Another nod. Thank God his husband wasn’t stupid. He looked truly sad though and Ronea swallowed.  
  
“I’m gonna make myself a tray, take to what I _hope_ will eventually become Juice’s room to get some _much_ needed time on my own and unless there’s a fire or Juice _really_ needs me, I don’t want to hear as much as a little knock on that door, or hear the sound of feet outside, until Case is here. Got it?”  
  
Nod.  
  
“Good. I love you, Filip, and this isn’t a silent treatment, I just need _a lot_ of space now and you’re gonna give it to me. And when _I’m_ ready to talk, even if it’s in the middle of the night and you’re sleeping, you’ll leave that bed and fucking talk. And your… _invitation_ of Tara… just thank your patron saint that you at least gave me a couple of days to decide whether or not I’d let her in, _or kick you out._ Are we clear?”  
  
It appeared so because there was only a forth nod and still very muched sealed lips. Ronea bit his lip.  
  
“Thank you. Now, you’re gonna go out to your bike or the garden or a walk around the block, staying out of the kitchen until I’m done here, which I expect would take about ten minutes and don’t even _think_ about going to the club, or a bar or Tig’s place, because you’re on Juice watch. I don’t even understand how I’m able to talk this calmly to you right now.”


	61. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy really hasn't one of his best head of the household days...

“Daddy, where’s Papi?”  
“He’s resting a little, lovey.”  
“He’s sick too?”  
  
Daddy shook his head and took his hand.  
  
“No, lil’ one. Jus’ a wee bit tired. He’ll be up once the doc’s here.”  
“Juice is nervous, Daddy.”  
“I know, but could ye try an’ tell me in which ways, darlin’?”  
  
Juice tried to think. It wasn’t as easy with the sedatives. His mind seemed blurry and thoughts didn’t follow lines as well, but since when was that new? He felt so tired.  
  
“I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to… get out of _our_ space with her this time. Calling you… you know, your real names.”  
”Oh. Would ye feel embarressed or uncomfortable if ye cannae?”  
“I’m… worried she might think I’m crazy… I mean, more crazy than I already am…”  
“First of all, ye’re not crazy, Juice, ye’re _ill_ an’ has a hellish background chasing after ye, an’ tha’s _not_ yer fault. Secondly, Dr. Case is a member o’ Papi’s an’ Daddy’s club. There’s no kink or alternate lifestyle she doesn’t know about an’ she doesn’t judge any o’ us. Please, don’ try an’ deceit her or hide things, okay? She’s here to help an’ she cannae do tha’ unless we try an’ be as honest as possible.”  
  
Daddy almost looked like he was pleading and Juice felt him squeeze his hand.  
  
“Ye trust Daddy to make the right decisions for ye, Juice?”  
“I… Yes, Daddy. ‘Course I do.”  
“Even if ye feel uncomfortable or disagree with some o’ them?”  
“Uh-huh. W-why are you asking me that now, Daddy?”  
“Because I’ve also spoken to another doc on yer behalf.”  
  
Another doctor? Juice was confused. Why another?  
  
“Already have one, Daddy…?”  
“Aye, but there are different kinds o’ doctors. The other one… she helped Papi a long time ago.”  
“When that asshole hurt him?”  
  
Daddy smiled and nodded.   
  
“Dr. Case is a general practitioner an’ a really good one, but some things are jus’ better left handled by experts.”  
  
There was a nervous feeling rising in his guts and Juice bit his lip, trying to stay calm.  
  
“That’s your fancy way of saying that other doc is a shrink, Daddy?”  
“She’s a psychiatrist.”  
“And I’m a nutcase... I get it.”  
“Juicy…”  
“S’okay, Daddy. I know my head’s all fucked up, you don’t have to explain.”  
  
This was it. They were kicking him out. They’d get him off to a crazy wing after all and the only thing Juice could think about, was why he suddenly felt calm. Had he known the difference, he’d realised he wasn’t calm, he was shutting down, but he didn’t know and his mind reacted on an instinct that wasn’t as old as the one having him suckle on Papi’s breast, but one that had been formed later on and perfected over the years.  
  
It was a shield, one that hadn’t moved very often until Daddy and Papi came into his life, that used to fold down automatically, closing in and hiding whatever weakness he had, trying to protect it at all costs. People had hurt him in so many ways, but at least he’d learned some skills to keep the injuries bearable. He knew he was an idiot, a loon and a freak. A weak fuck-up who never learned and of course, Daddy had only promised he wouldn’t ship him away to a crazy-wing to calm him down. It was probably the right thing to do, anyway. He wouldn’t be a burden for Papi anymore, or Daddy, and it was probably crazy as could be, acting like a fucking baby the way he had.  
  
“Juice, don’ shut me out, please? Laddie, I _know_ this is increadibly difficult for ye an’ I wish there was another way, but I jus’ wan’ ye to get the right help, lovey. These problems ye have, the nightmares an’ anxiety, the panic attacks an’ the eating disorder… I wouldna let Papi outta proper treatment, so why should I treat ye any different? _I love ye_ , Juicy. I love ye so much an’ I’m prepared to risk ye being upset with me for this, or even hatin’ me, if it helps ye recover. Papi hated me too.”  
  
The sound of doorbell interrupted the plea or whatever it was and Juice shuddered a little. Daddy rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  
  
“Well, Case is here, darlin’. Please, if ye cannae talk to me, at least try an’ talk to her.” 


	62. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc's arrived, Juice is rude, Papi is mad and Daddy just wants forgiveness...

You could cut the atmosphere with a knife and Filip felt like he was awaiting his own trial. Juice sat seemingly calm in bed, Ronea was sitting on a chair next to him, equally composed as Wendy Case finished checking their lil’ one’s pulse, blood pressure and heart. She removed her stethoscope and made a note.  
  
“You have a slightly raised pulse, Mr. Ortiz, but…”  
“Juice. T’is Juice, doc.”  
  
The lad sounded tired and there wasn’t a trace of childlike tone or behavior now. Juice had come back to his adult self again, protecting himself from more vulnerability by keeping a brave face, and while it didn’t help the examination, it probably prevented the lad from having a complete breakdown. Case smiled.  
  
“Sorry, Juice. Your blood pressure is actually quite close to normal, compared to when I last saw you, so it seems to me that whatever you’ve been doing of late, has worked.”  
“Then why are you here?”  
“Juice…”  
  
The rudeness didn’t slip Ronea, who rose his eyebrows and the lad glared a little, but then turned to Case.  
  
“Sorry, doc. Shouldn’t be rude.”  
“No worry, Juice. Your heart is fine and I can tell you’ve gained some weight too. Generally you just seem better. Physically.”  
“Yeah, thanks to my overly-protective lovers who treat me like a sick kid, but up here I’m still a nutcase punk and I’m very aware of that.”  
  
Filip looked at his husband, but Ronea actually seemed unfazed by Juice’s behavior. He just folded his arms and looked more tired than upset.  
  
“Dr. Case, maybe we should leave you alone with Juice for a while.”  
  
The doc looked at Juice who shrugged. She nodded and smiled at Ronea and Filip.  
  
“I think that would be good. I’ll call you up here later, if that’s okay with you?”  
  
She looked around at all three of them now, Juice just looked like he tried to pretend it didn’t matter to him and Ronea was positively serene. Their lad rolled his eyes.  
  
“Whatever.”  
  
Filip nodded then, ignoring the bad manners for now.  
  
“Alright, we’ll be downstairs.”  
  
They left with Juice still reminding like an obstinate teen and once they were down in the kitchen, Ronea rubbed his palms over his face with a deep sigh.  
  
“You want coffee, baby?”  
“God yes, love.”  
“And as soon as his fever is gone, I know someone who needs a darn good spanking.”  
“Ye got a fever too, darlin’?”  
  
Ronea glared at him from the coffee brewer and Filip grinned but put his hands up.  
  
“I know, I know. _Not funny, Mr. Telford._ I’ll handle it, lovey, I promise.”  
“You think I should be more understanding?”  
  
He seemed to honestly wonder and Filip went over and hugged him tight.  
  
“Ye an’ Juice both thrive on boundaries an’ predictable consequences, lovey. It’s wha’ we all agreed on an’ we’re sticking to tha’. I will spank our lil’ one properly once he’s medically fit for it, an’ I’ll make sure he knows tha’, but I wont have’im feel like he’s getting punished in any other way. Cannae be all stern an’ strict to’im for days. Would make him scared an’ anxious an’ I’d feel sad too.”  
“True.”  
“Wait a minute…”  
  
Filip frowned and looked at him.  
  
“I thought ye were crossed with me ‘bout this doc thing?”  
“I am, but that doesn’t give Juice the right to be disrespectful to Wendy Case. Or to us, especially not in front of her. Just because you, albeit while trying to help, overstepped, we’re not retorting to anarchy in this house.”  
“So… how mad are ye with me, love?”  
“Probably not half as much as you deserve.”  
“Well, does it help my case tha’ I felt awful doing it an’ thought about running away from her office once I realised who she was?”  
“A little… That and the fact that I’m just terrible at staying mad at you for something that you didn’t intend on doing.”  
“Thank ye, lovey.”  
“Although, I’m still not happy about you going behind my back like that, Filip. You should’ve told me you went to see someone.”  
“Ye’re really feeling hurt by tha’, aren’t ye, Ronea?”  
  
Ronea sighed, but leaned onto Filip’s shoulder.  
  
“It hurts that you didn’t think it was necessary to tell me about seeking help. How would you feel if I did that to you? Honestly.”  
“Betrayed, I guess.”  
“You _guess_?”  
“Fine, I definitely would feel betrayed, but mosly sad an’… well, like I’d failed ye. Tha’ I’d failed as a husband and top, for not making ye feel safe with sharing this with me. Shite… I really dinnae mean to hurt ye, lovey.”  
  
They parted and Ronea poured coffee in two cups. It really felt a little better now, not only because it truly had been an accident, seeking out Tara Knowles, but thanks to the sincere guilt Filip felt about it. Ronea didn’t want him to feel that for too long, Filip knew that. Guilt was poisonous when left to dwell on it’s own and his husband knew all too well how destructive it was to turn down that road.  
  
Ronea took the cups and went to the table but didn’t sit down, only waited for Filip to do so and then Ronea placed himself to sit on his husband’s lap and put an arm around his shoulders.  
  
“I know you didn’t mean to, Filip. It’s just… really bizarre. And it would’ve been a whole different thing had it been another shrink. I’d still feel hurt that you didn’t tell me, but you gotta understand that Tara… You know we wouldn’t be sitting here had I not went to her, she’s helped me more than I even knew I needed, but it was horrible, Filip.”  
“I know, lovey.”  
“No, you really don’t. And I don’t mean that as an insult or accusation at all, baby, but I went to see her almost every week for eighteen months and it’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. You remember how it was? How _I_ was in the midst of it?”  
“Aye.”  
  
_God, how he remembered…_


	63. Ronea/Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, this is a really messy chapter, set 23 years prior to present day, when Filip and Ronea were very new as a couple and a certain piece of shit named Aaron still ruined Ronea's life. Enjoy the chaos - and a little visit from Tig and Venus.

**Ronea**  
The mornings were worst, because in that small gap between sleep and wake, everything was normal. Then the wake won, sleep faded away and he could feel fabrics against itching fabrics where there should be hair. The absence of a cat who no longer kneaded with soft paws.  
  
Sometimes he’d cry and stay in bed, letting Filip hold him through it, other times he’d leave the bed as quiet as possible and take to the bathroom to bawl his eyes out, muffling the sounds with towels. The cutting usually didn’t happen this early, the urge not yet strong enough, dampened by the crushing weight of an exhausted mind that couldn’t go back to sleep but still wasn’t alert enough to make any actual decisions.  
  
It was this time of the day, where Aaron felt the most close and Filip was still asleep and couldn’t act as a shield. Ronea was alone with his memories and all the things he knew about himself and his ex.  
  
Almost four years. One of them before the actual beatings started and he’d not walked away. Why? He’d not really dared to ask himself that, but for some reason, the question wouldn’t rest this dawn. Ronea lit a smoke, using the toilet as ash tray, silently grateful that he kept a package and lighter in here. It was easier to think while smoking.  
  
So, three years of what Filip didn’t let him call _argues_ or _problems_. Or let wasn’t exactly the right word, but Filip always corrected him whenever the subject came up, which wasn’t often. Three years of – Ronea took a long, deep blow on the smoke – abuse. There. He’d said it, silently in his own mind, but still. And Aaron’s face or voice didn’t show up.  
  
The probl… _abuse_ had so many sides it was almost impossible to find a starting point. Was it on their fifth date where Aaron had ignored that Ronea decided on a well done steak and ordered rare for both of them? The complete overruling with a sexy smile Ronea took for confidence and honestly found really hot? He’d forced down the steak, not daring to show he didn’t like it.  
  
Or was it when Aaron decided, not suggested but simply decided, they should go home earlier from a concert Ronea had been looking forward to for months? Or when Aaron had started to comment on Ronea’s looks, little by little increasing the compliments until the “suggestions” and “honest opinions” took over and finally became a two-faced game of “you’re so sexy/you look like a wimp”?  
  
The first time Aaron had hit him, Ronea as so many others, re-shaped it into a mistake that wouldn’t have happened had Aaron not been stressed out and he’d not been a bitch, testing his patience.  
   
Ronea shuddered and lit a second smoke. Thank God he’d not ruined Filip’s sleep this time.  
  
  
**Filip**  
Somehow, his usually logical brain had managed to forget. Or box away, at least. Ronea refused to talk about it and would go to such length avoiding any invites to open up, he didn’t even care about not making it look like avoiding.  
  
Sex was great, that wasn’t the problem, which forced Filip to realise that maybe all vicims of rape didn’t act the same. Of course, he knew they didn’t, but he’d always imagined the reactions being on a similar scale. The classical scrubbing and never feeling clean, dressing in chunky clothes and jumping at physical contact. Avoiding men.  God, he was such an idiot.  
  
It didn’t make things easier, that almost every piece of information on this, were on women. When Filip – in secret – called a helpline for rape victims, the lady who answered thought it was a prank call and got angry. If that was how even the professionals on sexual abuse treated male victims, Filip didn’t want to think about how much worse Ronea would feel from it. Filip still volunteered at the E.R. and without really thinking about it, he started take extra care of abuse cases, sexual or not. Most weren’t, since people rarely sought help out of shame and fear, but as meeting people who’d been physically scarred for life had helped Filip to come to terms with his own scars, helping patients who’d suffered from physical or sexual abuse, guided him in the relationship with Ronea.  
  
But in their everyday life, as Ronea’s hair grew back, the tears over his dead cat came with longer space in between and the sex was as good as ever, Filip sometimes felt like he allowed himself to be soothed by his boyfriend’s calm and sunny temper. Trying to force or persuade a rape victim to open up wasn’t good, it had to be on their terms, but as time went on, Filip got more and more worried that perhaps Ronea wasn’t coping with it at all, but simply avoiding his feelings.  
  
The constant use of beanies, scarves and caps was, perhaps, not a very big issue, but it was the seemingly least scary thing to start with, Filip decided. Ronea had refused to show his hair to anyone, even Filip, since the attack and while the haircut punishment hadn’t happened during the rape, it was still a major violation to his body and person and caused further damage to his health. For one, Ronea had a sensitive scalp, the covering made it itch and the various items used were often covered with dandruff. Secondly, it clearly made him very unfomfortable being looked at, which was almost a given anyway considering his height and naturally graceful style.  
  
Filip couldn’t really blame people, especially teenage girls, for looking at his damn pretty boyfriend, but said boyfriend had become hyperaware of his surroundings and other people’s looks no matter what kind, just sent his stress levels through the roof. The sight of scissors, if he wasn’t prepared, could give him panic attacks and touching his hair was almost as bad. He would let Filip touch if it was covered, but that was it. Sex was geat, more than, but showering together? No way. While touching and talking were off the table at the moment, Filip did what any sane man would and spoke to Venus. The trans woman was the unofficial hairdresser of the club and more important, she got along well with Ronea. After a “secret” coffee date with Tig’s old lady, Filip was equipped with lots of good advice, a well-needed portion of courage and a shopping list that included special dandruff products, various combs and brushes and new beanies and scarfs.  
  
Filip had put his last money before salary on it and he couldn’t believe how people could spend this much on beauty products, but with his own carbolic soap and cheap aftershave, perhaps he wasn’t the right person to have an opinion.  
  
As Filip had kind of expected, Ronea didn’t accept the bag of hair products with either happiness nor gratitude. After taking a single look in the brown paper bag, Ronea’s curiosity turned to paleness, wide eyes and tense jaw before throwing the bag in the wall and running off into his bedroom, slamming the door.  
  
Instead of leaving or knocking, Filip simply picked up the bag who’s content hadn’t been damaged from the outburst, and put it on the floor next to Ronea’s couch. Then, Filip had made himself a cup of tea, looked through Ronea’s bookshelf for a paperback thriller and laid down on the couch to read.  
  
A few chapters in, the bedroom door was opened and the reluctant steps of Ronea were approaching.  Filip looked up from the book, seeing his boyfriend with red-rimmed eyes, arms crossed, almost clutching, and fingers twitching. Filip reckognized that pattern, grateful that Ronea had managed to come out to him instead of turning to self-harm.  
  
“Gonnae make some more tea. Ye wan’ a cuppa, lovey?”  
  
A nod.  
  
“Honey and soymilk, please.”  
“Aye.”  
  
Ronea didn’t like milk and wouldn’t drink tea without some soy stuff and added sweetness. Filip went up to make the beverage and his boyfriend opened the livingroom window to have a smoke. When the tea was done and Filip returned with the cups, Ronea was still standing by the window, lightning a second fag. Filip put the cups down and joined him.  
  
They stood in silence for a little while, then Ronea sighed and started on a third, fingers slightly stiff. He blew out a cloud of smoke and shut his eyes.  
  
“I haven’t looked at it since… Hate touching it… Even… even use fucking gloves in the shower. So… please, don’t say it doesn’t matter, Filip. I know that you mean well, but I can’t take any inner beauty bullshit or how I’m still attractive to _you_ right now, okay?”  
“I wont. Ye have my word.”  
“And I… I _know_ it’s not the end of the world, I _know_ it grows out and that it’s nothing compared to a Glasgow smile... I know it’s fucking stupid to…”  
“Lovey… S’not _just hair_. He attacked ye. No one’s got any right to decide wha’ ye can or cannae feel about it, alright? All the different… parts o’it. An’ I was prepared for a bad reaction, ye know. Dinnae bought it to provoke ye or anything, but I know yer scalp is a mess an’ I jus’ wanted to help. S’not some shite beauty treatment, lovey, t’is specialized products so it wont itch as badly.”  
  
Ronea started crying. First quietly, then louder and it went on and on and Filip put their fags out and took him back to the couch. The man buried his face onto his knees, arms tucked around his legs and it was just the saddest little pile of human flesh Filip had seen. He ached for holding him but not until the sobs had slowed down a little, did he dare to offer a hug, which Ronea eventually accepted.  
  
He sniffled for a long while and then Filip had him resting onto his chest. It didn’t matter how bad the beanie smelled, or how much dandruff was on it. Ronea had to get to cry and be cuddled for as long as he needed, slowly learning that it was okay for him to let the guard down a little. When Filip brushed his lips onto the beanie, Ronea didn’t startle or shoved him off, but gripped him a little harder and Filip nuzzled him a little closer.  
  
“If ye wannae talk, we’ll talk. Ye wannae jus’ sit, we’ll jus’ sit. Can hold ye or not… anything ye need, lovey. Really, _anything_.”  
“How about… getting my hair and cat back?”  
  
It made Filip’s heart ache hearing it and he sighed.  
  
“Anything tha’s within reach for my arms or wallet an’ doesn’t require magic, darlin’.”  
“Sorry… for being an ungrateful bitch.”  
“Ye’re not an’ please, don’ speak ill o’ yerself like tha’, lovey.”  
“You tried to be nice and I…”  
“Darlin’, t’is not yer fault, alright? I really dinnae expect ye to be all smiles for this, ye know. Was prepared for this.”  
“Then why spend all this money?”  
“Cause sooner or later, ye gotta do something before ye end up with lice or worse. An’ this stuff Venus helped me pick out are specially made for… sore scalps an’ shite. An’ at least ye gotta change an’ wash tha’ beanie from time to time. Even got gloves for both o’ us…”  
  
  
**Ronea**  
It hurt and he couldn’t bear to look. Touching was a little easier with the gloves but it still made Ronea feel sick. A couple of times he gagged and then he threw up in the shower, partly from the smell but mostly it was just horrible to be seen and touched. Filip was extremely gentle and patient, a stark contrast from Aaron with his scissor. What was left of the hair was tangled, messy and sticky with dirt, grease and dandruff. His scalp was really very sore.  
  
“Ye’re doin’ great, lovey. Ye’re alright?”  
“No… but not worse…”  
  
A small kiss on the nape of his neck as the schampoo was massaged into his hair. They were on the floor, both on their knees and Filip didn’t even tower over him, but the position still made Ronea cringe and he clutched his stomach as he leaned forward and threw up a second time. Filip gave him more space, paused with the schampoo, gave him a glass of water and waited until Ronea’s insides calmed down. The entire time, he talked. Not fast or loud, or about the hair, just soothing words in his thick accent.  
  
“S’alright, Ronea. Jus’ rinsing a wee bit more… Aye, tha’s better, tha’ dandruff’s gonna stop itching soon…”  
  
He didn’t even mention the word hair while rinsing the schampoo and adding conditioner. Or growing out, or haircut or anything like it. The bathroom was cleared of scissors, razors and even nailclippers. Instead, he started to talk nonsense, as in Lewis Carroll poems, in exaggerated Scottish accent:  
  
“’Will ye walk a little faster?’ said a whiting to a snail, ‘There's a porpoise close behind us, an’ he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! They are waiting on the shingle – will ye come and join the dance?’”  
  
Ronea startled at first, then huffed. Ridiculous man, trying to recite fucking poems while using conditioner and rinsing the ruined hair, but it sort of helped. At least it gave something to focus on, other than the burning scalp and memory of humiliating and scary it had been, being deprived of his hair. And then seeing his beloved Leah getting…  
  
He had to throw up again and started sobbing because he’d loved his little furball and how could he be crying over hair when Leah had been murdered by that psycho? He was beyond fucked up and still, Filip didn’t get pissed or even annoyed, just rinsed the pukes away.  
  
“Ronea, lovey, don’ do tha’…”  
  
Wet hand on his own. Firm and soft.  
  
“Please, don’t scratch yer arms, baby. Don’ hurt yerself, darlin’… Ye don’ deserve to be hurt, ye hear me?”  
“Don’t wanna look…”  
“Ye don’ have to look, I’m taking care o’ it. Jus’ some conditioner an’ then we’re done. A coupla minutes, lovey… Can hold onto my shirt, aye?”  
“I’m… _hideous_ …”  
“No, no, no… Hey, c’mere, baby, ye’re not hideous an’ ye’re not disgusting. C’mon, lets finish this, lovey.”  
  
The kind words didn’t stick, but at least he heard them. When Filip was done, he took a towel to dry him and then stroke his cheek.  
  
“Would ye like a beanie or a scarf or something?”  
“Scarf… Please…”  
  
Filip kissed his forehead before going for the bag Ronea had thrown into the wall. He took out a long, black scarf that looked expensive and handed it over. The fabrics were soft, almost silky and Ronea slowly wrapped it around his still sore and damp head, tying it off to make it stick. Then Filip proceeded with wrapping some swathes around his arms, even if it didn’t really bleed and Ronea winced.  
  
“Don’t need it. Doesn’t bleed…”  
“Can still get infected, lovey. Could do without tha’, righ’?”  
  
The kindness. The calmness. The way he talked, the words chosen, the absolute care in every little detail just set off another wave of tears that had nothing to do with the stinging on his arms and everything to do with the contrast between the animal who’d killed his cat and cut his hair and the man who bought a dozen scarves and expensive hair products just to save a slice of Ronea’s shattered dignity.   
  
His strange, incredibly sweet boyfriend finished the makeover by adjusting the scarf ends properly, serious like a fashion designer and Ronea couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“Sure that kutte isn’t just a coverup for a secret passion for Dior?”  
“Di-wha’?”  
“Dior.”  
“Tha’ some fancy leather brand, or something?”  
  
Ronea laughed. He really did, because it was just something weird and very typically Filip not to have a clue at all about fashion – and not caring the slightest about it. Still, he’d went shopping for scarves solely for his whimp of a boyfriend’s sake and it was just so increadibly sweet. And the slight blush when he finished arranging the scarf was fucking heartwarming.  
  
“There. Wannae have a look, lovey?”  
“Not really…”  
“Ye’re pure tidy.”  
“You’re my boyfriend, you kinda have to say that.”  
“Have a look an’ see for yerself tha’ I aint lying.”  
  
  
**Filip**  
It wasn’t particularly nice, having his chavie all covered up, but Filip understood. Seeing the state of Ronea’s hair and scalp, or his arms, hadn’t been pretty and there was no wonder he felt more comfortable now. The hair that had been covered up for months, was slowly growing back and needed some trimming, that if Ronea would ever go near a scissor again. It didn’t seem that likely at the moment.  
  
What was nice though, was how Ronea not only allowed but actually wanted to be touched there again. He laid with his head in Filip’s lap, snugly like a cat or puppy, and when Filip had kept his hands off the covered head, Ronea had brought them there, letting Filip cradle it.  
  
The scarf and most certainly the hair treatment had made Ronea significantly more relaxed now even if his eyes were still red-rimmed and it clearly was difficult for him to stop scratching his arms. He’d not found himself able to look in the mirror either. Filip found a cardigan and helped Ronea to get it on, as if he was a child or very ill. Whatever could be of help. He stroked Ronea’s belly.  
  
“How’s yer tummy, lovey?”  
“Bit better. But I’m kinda tired.”  
“I’ll make the bed then.”  
“Okay. Thanks for the scarves and… you know…”  
“S’nothing, lovey.”  
  
A tiny smile. Warmth in those weary eyes.  
  
“Yeah, it is.”  
“Can I ask ye something? ‘Bout this.”  
“Sure…”  
“Venus said tha’ if ye wannae, I mean, whenever ye’d feel ready for it, she could help ye with, ye know, styling. She’s uhm… she’s pretty good, ye know, an’ in case ye don’ wannae see a hairdresser…”  
  
Just hearing the word hairdresser was enough for Ronea to squirm uncomfortably again and Filip petted his shoulder.  
  
“Sorry, lovey, I shouldna talk ‘bout it.”  
“S’okay.”  
“Not if it upsets ye.”  
“Why are you always so… goddamn _understanding_?”  
“Ye’d prefer if I wasn’t?”  
  
Ronea sighed.  
  
“Can’t win this, can I?”  
“Dinnae know t’was a competition.”  
“Please, can’t you just… I don’t know, yell at me, or something? Fucks sake, I was a bitch earlier.”  
“Well… PTSD is a bitch.”  
“Oh, so now you’re a shrink too? Fuck… Sorry, I… God, I don’t know what I’m…”  
  
Filip reached for his hand and squeezed it.  
  
“Ronea… I don’ expect ye to keep yer shite together now. Ye’re too bloody hard on yerself, lovey. Expecting far too much o’ yerself. T’is normal to react like this after wha’ ye’ve been through.”  
“You know, sometimes I really hate you, Filip.”  
“Ye have an odd way o’ showing it, lovey.”  
  
The words hurt, because Ronea didn’t mean any of them and they both knew it. It was just a way for him to try and keep some control, unhealthy as it was. Filip swallowed.  
  
“I still love ye, though.”  
  
Maybe it was unfair, manipulative or even cruel, not to give Ronea the resistance he needed to keep up a brave face. He desperately searched for some leverage, anything that would make him feel less like a victim and less out of control, and Filip just refused to give it.  
  
In a way, it felt very much like crushing Ronea all over again. Like dismissing his feelings, not taking them seriously and brushing him off, but Filip didn’t know how else to respond, because he didn’t hate the man, he couldn’t be angry with him because he just knew too much about how the guilt manifested itself.  
  
“Sorry, but ye cannae make me stop feeling something I do, jus’ because yer ex is a psychopath.”  
“Stop…”  
“An’ I don’ bloody care how much ye’re ashamed, ‘cause it still aint yer bloody fault an’ I’ve met too many traumatized people to fall for yer attempt to be a jerk an’ scare me off. Cannae make me stop caring, lovey… Not like tha’. An’ ye cannae trick me into hating ye, or pretend I do, so jus’ stop.”  
  
  
**Ronea**  
Most people would beat about the bush, take the easy way out and be happy with not having to jump into someone else’s problems. At least that was Ronea’s experience and he silently admitted he was very much like most people in that sense himself. Filip’s way was strange bordering on exotic. The bluntness wasn’t really intruding or nosy, just… weird. And it didn’t suit well with Ronea’s skills in slipping away.  
  
It was, how ever, honest.  In it’s own way, almost simple. The man had answers for about everything. Not explanations, but words. He wasn’t afraid of them, they bore no supernatural or psychological meaning to him, at least not in ways that would keep them locked up. No pleading for specific answers or emotions. Compared to Filip fucking Telford, Aaron was nothing but a pathetic little shit who took out his frustration on cats. Contrasts were scary. Gentleness unfamiliar. Falling for Filip just downright terrifying. And it was beyond annoying how nice the hair treatment and scarfe felt.  
  
“Ye wan’ a warmer cardigan, lovey? The green one?”  
“Sure…”  
  
Because it was cold and his boyfriend saw the goosebumps and knew about Ronea’s favourite cardigan and how much the loss of the hair still… Fuck. Why couldn’t he just get over this shit? A sob escaped him and there Filip was, not intruding, just keeping an eye on him, helping him on with the cardigan.  
  
It was still a new thing, being allowed to cry without comments. Or judgement. That hadn’t happened since mom’s funeral. Thinking of his mother, only made it worse now. Still, after more than six years, Ronea missed her terribly, her support and acceptance and how she’d always defend her son and if he’d been an asshole, she’d still loved him, even if she was momentarily furious. And she would’ve loved Filip too, probably treat him like her son.  
  
Dad’s way of dealing with the grief, had been to turn to the neighbors Pentecostal congregation, probably because they were the most frequent people to stop by once the funeral was over. A gay son wouldn’t have been that much of an issue before that, but as things were now, Ronea wouldn’t take the risk of trying to reach out. People at home didn’t need to know that Fred Tully not only had become a widower far too early, but had a pervert son as well who lived in sin and dressed like a tattood slut.  
  
The scarf felt damp and the itching that had stopped after the shower, started to come back a little. Fact was, he didn’t know how he looked like without cover and he hadn’t even touched it without gloves for a very long time. Usually he made the quickest washing possible, eyes shut the entire time and barely let it dry properly before putting the beanie back on.  
  
He’d felt so humiliated when Aaron cut his hair. Not quite as when he ignored stop words, but in a different way. It probably wasn’t a good idea to try and compare them because they weren’t the same, but just as with the beatings, the controlling, the isolation from friends and, worst of all, the killing of Leah, chopping his hair off was Aaron’s way of saying: _I own you. You don’t get to decide if we’re splitting up, how to live your life, whom you’re seeing or how to look. You’re mine to do with as I please. Your hair is mine to cut, your face mine to smash and your ass is mine to take. And stop fucking crying, you’re making me sick...  
  
_ “Lovey, I wish there was something I could do…”  
  
Ronea almost laughed through his tears. His boyfriend was such a dork.  
  
“You’re not calling buying expensive schampoo and scarfs _something_? Jesus… Why did you do that?”  
“Because I could an’ ye needed it an’ because I love ye, muppet.”  
“I look like shit…”  
“No!”  
  
The almost exasperated tone had some sharpness in it and Ronea instinctively crouched.  
  
“Fuck… I’m sorry, lovey, I dinnae mean to bark at ye… I just… Bloody hell, t’is so heartbreaking hearing ye talk like tha’ ‘bout yerself. Ye think my scares make me hideous, huh?”  
“No…”  
“An’ neither does yer hair to ye. Mary, Mother o’ Christ… Listen, I’m not gonnae say it’s okay jus’ because it’s growing back again, because it’s _not_ fucking okay. An’ we’re not gonnae compare it to my scars, ‘cause I was attacked by a fucked up, high stranger who thought I was someone else. Doesn’t make it okay, I still hate the bastard, but Aaron did this to punish an’ humiliate ye. Tha’s the bloody point, lovey, not whether or not hair grows back again. An’ there’s jus’ no way tha’ wha’ he did to ye makes ye hideous or… disgusting or weak or whatever.”  
  
He still spoke about the hair, but it could’ve just as likely been about what Ronea couldn’t make himself see as rape. Which it was and spending time with a man who thrived on logic and reason, made it so difficult to keep lying to himself. Aaron had used violence to form him into something he controlled. Letting Filip in was to have those layers of hurt, fear and humiliation coming off. Like cutting off hair, peeling skin, shaving stubble it left soreness and exposure. And while it was a relief, it also hurt. A lot. There was nothing refreshing about being born anew.  
  
  
**Filip**  
Doing it at Ronea’s apartment just wasn’t an option, nor was going to Tig’s and Venus’ place. A salon was completely out of the question, of course, so that left them with Filip’s impersonal bachelor pad. It took a week of just building up the courage before they could even set a date, then another two weeks for Ronea to prepare mentally and by the end of the third week, Filip’s view on hair and haircuts had changed significantly from something he’d barely thought of to a thing that had a lot more to it than loosing a few inches of something that would eventually grow back.  
  
Bruises vanished too. Your skin would look as if they’d never been there, but that didn’t make it okay by any means. And it wasn’t about looking good, but having what should belong only to you, violated and changed into something you hadn’t agreed on. In that sense, it reminded a lot about a rape. Filip didn’t intend on comparing them, but stripped on everything but the lowest common denominator, the two very different assaults, were both bodily and psychologically violations.  
  
The three weeks had passed and Ronea was pacing the flat like a stressed out animal, gnawing on his nails one second, scratching his arms the other and cracking his finger joints to the point where Filip seriously considered ear plugs. He sat by the table, sipping on some coffee while looking at his anxious boyfriend.  
  
“Ye’re gonnae get through it, lovey. I know how hard this is for ye an’ I’m really proud o’ ye.”  
  
A glance that could mean anything was all Ronea could muster but at least he didn’t run away or locked himself in the bathroom. At this point, Filip definitely considered that a huge success. The time that had passed since the attack, had been one long learning curve in how to handle what was most likely PTSD. At least it bore a lot of signs of it and as far as Filip could tell, handling Ronea likea a PTSD sufferer, was the most efficiate thing to do now.  
  
The doorbell made Ronea jump and Filip had to soothe him a moment before he could let Tig and Venus in. His friend and his old lady greeted him as usual, hugs and kisses, like it was all normal and nothing weird about it. Then, before the couple had even made it half-way through the small hall, Ronea ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Filip went knocking on it.  
  
“Lovey, there’s no stress, aye.”  
“Take the time you need, darling! Venus is at your service, baby.”  
“We’ll get some coffee in the meantime. Jus’ knock or shout if ye need me, Ronea.”  
  
Thank God the bathroom was cleared from items Ronea could use to hurt himself with.  
  
  
**Ronea**  
After having avoided mirrors for months, being surrounded by them was almost too much for him, but as he sat down on the chair with Filip next to him and Tig on a safe distance in front of him, Ronea managed to take deep breaths and not freak out as Venus went behind him. With the mirrors placed out around him, he actually saw the state of his entire hair for the first time since the attack.  
  
“You’re okay, sugar?”  
“Yeah. Just… get on with it. I’m okay.”  
  
A lie, but mostly meant for himself. He had to go through with this, couldn’t walk around in beanies and freak out from scissors anymore. Filip was there. Increadible, insufferable, fucking amazing Filip held his hand and smiled at him when Venus’ hands started to comb, sprinkle water and put clips all over his head, chit chatting about club gossip before she went to face him and lowered down.  
  
“Startin’ by the neck now, baby. Just tell me if you want me to stop.”  
  
He just nodded, determined not to fuck this up, and he squeezed both Filip’s hands as hard as he could when the scissor touched his hair and the sound of the first cut was heard.  
  
The mirrors showed a whimp. At least that’s what _he_ could see. A cry-baby with ruined hair and red eyes. It didn’t look like him, not like he remembered himself before the attack and Ronea stared into the image, fixing his gaze on the person there who must’ve been someone else, because it wasn’t the man he’d seen the last time he’d looked. Pale and puffy, almost a little greenish and his complexion was just a disaster, as were the bags under his eyes.  
  
He kept looking at the man’s face, but never lifting the gaze to see further above than the nose. He could still hear the sound of the scissor, still feel how tiny amounts of hair falling down, small adjustments made by skilled hands.  
  
“You’re gonna look fabulous when we’re done here, handsome. Oh, where did you get that ring?”  
“Ring?”  
“Don’t tell me you two got engaged without telling me, baby.”  
_“Engaged?”_  
  
Judging by the way Tig snickered at Ronea’s response, it had sounded way more horrified than he’d intended to and Ronea blushed.  
  
“Sorry… Didn’t mean it like that. It’s just a… cheap thing I bought at a market.”  
  
He managed to keep looking at Filip, who was pretty red himself. Tig, that asshole, grinned and put an arm around his friend’s shoulders.  
  
“Don’t worry, Ronea, we all know what a perfect gentleman this expartriated Scotsman is. Chicks all over the county are crying themselves to sleep because of him.”  
“Tig…”  
  
But Filip’s glare didn’t bother his friend.  
  
“It’s gonna be fucking awesome, just let me handle everything and I promise you wont be disappointed. I’ll have John singing and Clay will make the food…”  
  
That had both Ronea, Filip and Venus snort and Ronea smirked at the curlyheaded man.  
  
“If I ever find myself craving lukewarm hot dogs and Jack Daniels straight from the bottle, I promise I’ll tell Clay you reckommended him specifically, Tig.”  
“That’s all a true artist asks for, baby. Reckognition.”  
  
The chit-chat helped. Removed focus from the hair and what had lead him to this chair in the first place. Tig would babble on, insulting pretty much anyone not present, making ridiculous suggestions about music choises and how to best bribe a Catholic priest to perform the ceremony. It was silly and a little forced, but it helped. When Venus finally put the scissor down and made a finishing inspection, swiping the cut hair off Ronea’s shoulders, it felt better. Not good, but better.  
  
“You wanna have a look before we go for the highlights, baby?”  
“Not sure…”  
“Ye look smashing, lovey. Seriously. Jus’ need a wee bit o’ colour added.”  
  
Ronea sighed.  
  
“What _I_ need is a drink…”  
  
Venus kissed his cheek.  
  
“Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere. Alexander, be a sweetheart and pour my baby a huge G &T.”  
“ _Your_ baby?”  
  
Tig looked about as skeptical as Filip, but Venus just took herself a smoke, offering one to Ronea too and lit them.  
  
“You boys are _all_ my babies and mama wants a drink too. Asap, please, I’m not getting any younger here, Tiger, and we still have some coloring to do.”  
  
  
**Filip**  
Ronea looked bloody bonnie in his new haircut and the highlights. Just so fucking pretty and hot and the makeup was unnecessary in Filip’s eyes, but Venus ruled this and insisted on a facial of some sort, digging deep into her “box of witchcraft”, as Tig lovingly called her huge bag with beauty products. On another occasion, Filip might’ve said something about Ronea being pretty enough as he was, but it wasn’t important what he thought and his darling sure as hell looked really pale and tired with the bags under his eyes and reddish nosetip. He deserved to _feel_ as pretty as he was.  
  
“Starting with a nice primer, baby. That nosetip of yours is a bit glossy so we’ll see if this Tea Tree oil can work it’s magic… Oh, yes, this’ll do… You’re naturally pale, which foundation brand do you use?”  
“Maybelline.”  
  
This really was a conversation Filip couldn’t contribute to at all and he’d never really viewed Ronea’s beauty stuff as an actual interest in make-up brands. He was almost a little ashamed of himself for not knowing something like that about his boyfriend, but on the other hand, make-up was about as interesting to Filip as MC brands were to Ronea.  
  
As Venus used her supplies on Ronea’s face, all while going on about the world of beauty products, Filip started to see why she’d insisted on this. His darling’s complexion hadn’t just been pale, but almost sickly and basically screaming about illness and lack of care, even more than the headcover did. Venus trimmed the eye-brows into thin lines, applied eye-liners and mascara, then proceeded to add red eyeshade and something that apparantly was also highlights, only for the face instead of hair.  
  
Filip had never in his life cared about this and had anyone suggested he’d sit by and watch someone being vamped up, he’d assumed it a joke – and maybe a little bit insulting because even if he was gay it didn’t mean he was a fairy queen. He had a reputation, after all, and loving dick wasn’t equal to wear high heels and rouge. Anything aside from soap, toothpaste, cologne, a close shave and possibly some conditioner would feel weird. High heels, earrings, bling of any kind really were also big no-nos. A dress on his frame would be a crime against good taste and possibly humanity.  
  
Ronea was dressed in wornout, black jeans that fit snugly around his tall legs, a stretchy tunic in light grey and the old cardigan. He looked vulnerable, almost fragile, even with the make-up and bold hair colors and Filip felt a tug in his chest, a worry, an urge to protect this amazing man even if he’d never asked for protection and even if he’d had, Filip most certainly wasn’t a knight in shining armour. Although, a pumped up bodybuilder would probably work too, something Filip was about as much as he was a medival tin can on a stallion.  
  
Venus opened a lipstick that, thank God, was almost colorless and applied expertly on Ronea’s lips.  
   
“What do you think, Filip? Did my magic work?”  
“Aye…”  
  
He didn’t really know what to say to Venus, so he looked at Ronea who, as soon as he’d smoothed out the bascially invisible lipstick, took his drink and sipped steadily from the straw. Venus put the lipstick back in her bag of witchcraft and eyed her work for a moment before nodding.  
  
“Had a mighty fine canvas for this, but I must say: when I’m good, I’m _damn_ good.”  
  
They all snickered at that, even Ronea. Tig raised his glass.  
  
“To mighty fine canvases and damn good artists.”  
  
Filip, Ronea and Venus joined him in a silent toast to whatever was worth celebrating tonight. For his own part, Filip could think of a few things that should remain unspoken unless you were determined to ruin the mood.  
  
The haircut, red highlights and make-up didn’t mean anything on their own or even all put together. If Ronea never wanted to use make-up again, or chose to get a buzz cut, he’d still be the prettiest man in the world and Filip would love him just the same, but that wasn’t the point.  
  
This was something more than a mere beauty treatment or make-over. Venus hadn’t _restored_ Ronea’s looks, because he wasn’t damaged goods, nor had she concealed cracks and wounds to pretend they weren’t there. This wasn’t a masquerade or denial of pain, but more of a redress for Ronea’s marred self-image, physical as well as psychological.  
  
Tig folded his arms and threw an amused look at Filip.  
  
“Chibs, quit starring, man. You look like a hick straight outta the annual town’s visit away from his piggies and cousins.”  
  
Venus pinched her boyfriends ass.  
  
“Pot calling the kettle black, Alexander. _I_ recall a night at Rainbow bar where a certain boy at the front row of the scene, looked like he’d lost his entire stockpile of little greys somewhere in the woods and forgot about their existence, gaping like he’d never seen a five feet nine amazon in six inch heels before.”  
“Well, I hadn’t. At least not one who could actually walk straight in them after eight shots.”  
  
Ronea chuckled at their bickering and Filip took his hand. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t really find out what. His boyfriend looked really pretty now, yes, but more important he seemed pleased. Calm, like he was back on somewhat steady ground and reckognized the reflection in the mirror as himself again, instead of a stranger.  
  
The small, almost invisible smile reached his eyes, still weary and while the glimpse only lasted for fraction of a second, the reflection caught it and Filip hid the sparkle in his own stash, not of beauty products, but of moments where his boyfriend could see himself as the beautiful, strong and brave man he was.  
  
  
**Ronea**  
He woke up the next morning with the odd sensation of hair in his face. At first, in his sleep-clouded mind, he thought it was Filip’s, until he saw the red color and then he remembered. Ronea very carefully left the bed not to wake his boyfriend up and padded away to the bathroom.  
  
The light in the small space was cold and the mirror hadn’t been polished in a while. Ronea looked steadily at the reflection that without the make-up, was a pale and puffy oval form surrounded by slightly sleep-ragged and layered black hair with bright-red highlights. Two redrimmed hazel eyes looking rather empty and tired, but not hunted or fearful. He’d not looked at himself like this for so long and it was his first time doing it alone.  
  
Venus had done a really good job, no one could guess how Ronead had looked underneath the scarves for the past three months. He kept inspecting what he saw, swallowing hard to keep from whimpering. The frame was _so scrawny_ compared to what he’d actually felt like. The layers of clothes had certainly given that particular self-delusion a boost and all he could think of seeing himself as he really looked, was how turned off Filip must be. How he’d probably pretended to like it to keep Ronea happy.  
  
The shame and guilt, the disgust came back like a punch in the guts.  
  
  
**Filip**  
They’d gone from covered, smelly hair and great sex, to gorgeous hair and hands off below the waist. Even kisses were difficult and after having felt Ronea tense from them for two days, Filip stopped trying. Holding hands, cuddles and small pecks on the cheeks were fine, but anything more than that suddenly made his boyfriend cringe.  
  
On the good side, Ronea had stopped neglecting his body in terms of restrained personal hygiene and uncomfortable headcovers. He took care of himself, at least physically, used make-up and other things he’d enjoyed before the assault  and his clothes weren’t shaggy either, just very covering. Baggy ones from cargos to flowy women’s pants and loose cotton t-shirts or thin tunics with long, wide sleeves.  
  
Oddly, the clothes actually suited him and as they seemed to make Ronea a little bit more comfortable, Filip didn’t question it. In fact, he didn’ even point it out, only complimented him like he’d do with other clothes, pretending there was no big deal. Ever since the attack, Ronea had stayed in Filip’s place, small as it was and as they both were away during the day and only spent the evenings together, it actually didn’t feel that difficult or even like a major change.  
  
The lack of physical intimacy, or parts of it, was hard but definitely not agonizing. The most tricky part of this sudden chastity wasn’t staying to rub one off privately in the shower or not snogging, but to navigate around all the rocks and pits scattered out in Ronea’s mind. Filip could read at least a good amount of parts of his skittish boyfriend fairly well by now and instead of trying to make him talk plainly about the issue, Filip decided to go with gentle manipulations and a hell of a lot of observations and patience.  
  
One thing Filip had at least begin to understand was that Ronea, in fact, prefered routines to spontaneity, even when it came to what was supposed to be fun and nice surprises. It seemed as if things he wasn’t prepared for, no matter if they didn’t remind the slightest of painful shit, made him tense and just too focused on not loosing control of the situation to really be able to enjoy himself. Equipped with that information, Filip started to put somewhat of a plan together.  
  
First of all, he stopped with the surprises entirely and made Friday flowers day. Before he headed home from work, he bought a small bouqet of flowers for his boyfriend who, after three weeks of that same routine started to look less and less suspicious and more happy and relaxed about it. Secondly, instead of suggesting dinner the same day or even two or three days ahead, Filip made it with a weeks notice and soon they had a steady date night every other Saturday where they’d go for something like burgers and a movie, or ride to the countryside on Filip’s bike for a picnic somewhere quiet.  
  
Thirdly, which felt weird as hell, Filip bought another cover for the bed. Ronea was easily frozen, especially those nights when he was more tense than usual and since body contact was a very delicate issue right now, the best thing Filip could think of, was to get his chavvie a really warm duvet he could use without having to make him choose between being relaxed or being warm. And what was almost as weird, was the fact that it actually worked.  
  
All these things, the little plans and perhaps manipulations, served the intended purpose of making Ronea feel more in control and by that less tense and frightened. Maybe even less disgusted by himself. In return, Filip learned patience and how damn fun his boyfriend was when he wasn’t scared or worried.  
  
They talked a lot, both serious stuff and utter nonsense. And slowly but steadily, the deep conversations or giggly moments, became more physical. Holding hands, stroking hair, nuzzling and gentle cuddles. Ronea’s dry, spot-on humor and wicked tongue would make Filip crack up, sometimes literally crying from laughter and aside from the horror that had forced them to take this long, slow road, Filip loved the long conversations, how they got to know one another more and most important, how he learned about Ronea’s need for submission and protection and how that need most certainly didn’t mean he had no will of his own.  
  
  
**Ronea**  
It was date night and they’d just come back to Filip’s apartment from a froyo place where they’d witnessed a hysterical argue between a middle-aged couple who loudly accused one another for ruining their lives. At the end of the fight, the woman had marched out, stopping by their table and told Ronea to be a wiser girl than she’d been and not just settle for the first boy asking her out. The “I promise I wont, ma’m” answer had made the angry woman gape in shock before making a loud snort and storming out.  
  
A few minutes later, as they were occupied with trying not to burst out laughing over their frozen yoghurts, the apparantly first boy to have asked the woman out, left his place too and stopped by their table, smiling like a cat who’d gotten the cream.  
  
“Thank you for ruining my wife’s evening. Best thing that’s happened to me in months. You two enjoy your yoghurts.”  
  
Amazingly, they’d both managed not to laugh until coming back to Ronea’s apartment, but before closing the door they’d broken down in fits of it. He’d not really laughed in a long time and it felt weird.  
  
After a little while, they calmed down, still joking a bit about what marriage did to couples and then they took to the couch and a movie. Ronea felt tired and didn’t really pay much attention, it was nice just cuddle on the couch and not having to talk. Filip nuzzled his hair and he didn’t flinch. He could be touched there now. Filip could touch him, because he wouldn’t hurt him…  
  
“Lovey? Wha’s wrong?”  
  
It always happened so fast. The sadness, the fear, the stress that suddenly hit him and crashed and burned everything. His boyfriend had seen it happen enough times to know what to do. Mostly.  
  
“S’alright, Ronea. Ye’re safe, s’just a panic attack.”  
  
Panic. Anxiety. PTSD. Ronea knew how Filip’s clinical mind worked when it came to this. How he was convinced Ronea needed professional help to deal with what had happened. With Leah, his hair, the rest of his body, his mind… Filip didn’t think Ronea could deal with it on his own, or the two of them together. The fact that they’d stopped having sex alltogether spoke pretty loud and clear on it’s own.  
  
It took some time for the attack to slow down and when it did, Filip took Ronea to lay on the bed-settee, facing each other and holding hands. The dark eyes were sad.  
  
“Ye need better help with this, lovey. Need some proper meds an’… someone to talk to tha’s not me.”  
“I’m handling it…”  
“Are ye?”  
  
A glance at his arms and Ronea shuddered, swallowing hard as his chest started to get tighter. He shut his eyes.  
  
“C’mere, lift yer hands…”  
“What are you doing?”  
“Jus’ lift’em, please?”  
  
He obeyed, didn’t know why, but he managed to do it and Filip took them, brought them to his own face and Ronea felt the scars under his fingertips. He rarely touched them, at least not like this, following the lines of them but now Filip made him. After a little while, Filip let go but did it with a small pressure onto his cheeks, encouraging Ronea to keep touching.  
  
He knew how much they still bothered Filip. That he felt ugly and got uncomfortable when people stared at him. Ronea knew how much the volunteer work at the hospital helped the healing, just like the group therapy had. Filip didn’t go to sessions anymore, had stopped a couple of months before Ronea showed up at the E.R. and not because he didn’t dare talking about it, but because he truly didn’t need that support anymore. Filip was scarred, yes, but not broken, not in the least, and Ronea knew that he’d been the first man Filip not just reluctantly tolerated touching his scars, but actually wanted to. Ronea also knew that to _him_ , his boyfriend’s scars weren’t blemishes in need of more surgeries. He swallowed, but didn’t let go of Filip’s face.  
  
“You’re still saving for that surgery?”  
“Aye.”  
“How long until you can afford it?”  
“Years, probably.”  
“Please, don’t take this the wrong way, but… I don’t understand why you want more surgeries. And this aint _me_ going with inner beauty bullshit, because I honestly think it would feel strange if you… looked different.”  
  
He bit his lip.  
  
“What I mean is, Filip… You act like my shit is nothing, I mean, not nothing as in nothing to care about, but as if it’s a given that I shouldn’t be ashamed, while you’re not applying the same rule to your scars.”  
  
Filip was quiet for a while, clearly thinking and he pressed his lips together, sighing.  
  
“Ye’re right. I don’ like my looks although I don’ avoid mirrors anymore. An’ I know tha’ even the best plastic surgeant wont get’em away completey. They’ve healed as good as I could hope for, I know tha’…”  
“I’m not telling you not to keep saving for it, you know.”  
“No, ye’re pointing out my own hypocrisy.”  
“Just your lack of logic. I’ve never thought about you as the guy with scars, or described you like that to anyone. It’s not that I don’t see the scars, but to me they don’t stand out any more than your eyes or your hair or your accent. They’re just another part of you.”  
“So since I wannae make’em go away, it’s unfair o’ me to say tha’ ye should open up more…”  
“Kinda, yes.”  
“Only my Glasgow smile doesn’t gimme nightmares anymore, or makes me hurt myself. Or hide.”  
“We’re different people.”  
“Aye, but I wouldna be here had I not gotten help, lovey. Ye know I’ve told ye ‘bout how close I was to become a drunk before I finally listened to good advices an’ accepted help.”  
“You’re stronger than me… And it’s not the same.”  
“It’s not the same issue, no, but ye’re a bloody eejit if ye think I’m stronger than ye. Aye, ye’re cutting yerself, but how’s two bottles o’ scotch a day any better? I escaped permanent damages jus’ in time, lovey, an’ all tha’ drinking certainly dinnae make my face heal. Ye gotta get professional help, Ronea, or ye wont make it. _We_ wont make it, ‘cause I’m not strong enough to help ye on my own. I’m speaking from experience, lovey. I _know_ t’is bloody awful an’ jus’ shitty as hell having to deal with it, but aren’t ye sick o’ tha’ bastard _still_ ruining yer life, even if he’s no longer here?”  
  
It wasn’t fair. Manipulations were supposed to be hidden, not upfront. That was the whole point of them, to make you believe you’d come up with the ideas yourself. Ronea had done it and had people doing it to him for so long, it was his normal, but that _normal_ just didn’t work with Filip. The guy didn’t fucking accept deception of any kind but still managed not to be nosy or intruding. At least not anywhere near the way Aaron had.  
  
Filip Telford was steady, strong and didn’t let his emotions control him. He would think things through, was disgustingly patient and he wasn’t the least impulsive. Pretty much the opposite of Aaron  and for the first time Ronea allowed himself to touch, just nudge on, a though that he’d been hiding away ever since he broke up with Aaron:  obeying felt good.  
  
It hadn’t always been clear to him what the urge even was. Figuring out why he had it was still far too scary and the shamefulness of it all made it so difficult and painful to think about it in earnest. He was finally free from a man who’d controlled him, free to live his life and make his own decisions. He shouldn’t want this, the urge that had sort of flickered in the background ever since his teens.  
  
A man who was strong, it didn’t even have to be physically, but mentally. Someone who’d be the voice of reason and safety. Who’d help him set the boundaries and take over when Ronea just wasn’t able to make himself be safe or reasonable. He was very quiet when he spoke.  
  
“Are you ordering me to see a therapist?”  
“No. Cannae force ye an’ I don’ wannae. But if we’re to keep being together, ye’ve gotta give it a go. I don’ see how we’re gonnae move forward together otherwise. I don’ see how ye’re ever to be happy an’ feel good about yerself, unless ye accept professional help, an’ I wan’ ye to be happy. Wont be prying, I don’ even need to know who ye’re seeing, jus’… I need ye to wannae heal.”  
  
It wasn’t fair, no, but it was honest, upfront and no matter how Ronea felt about it, perfectly reasonable in that dry, almost clinical way that didn’t demand or expect miracles. He swallowed.  
  
“Guess it would be… good to… sleep better. Get something for it…”  
  
It sounded stupid but Filip just nodded and stroke his cheek.  
  
“Aye, tha’ would do ye good, lovey.”  
“Means I’ve gotta see someone, I guess… Getting a prescription.”  
“Can call first thing on Monday morn.”  
“Yeah…”  
“Ye wan’ me to go with ye?”  
  
Ronea shook his head.  
  
“No. If I’m gonna do this, I gotta… do it my way.”  
“Of course.”  
“And can we please just cuddle now? I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.”  
“Sounds good to me. Ye want tea?”  
“Since your coffee is terrible, yes please.”  
  
Filip kissed his forehead and went to the kitchen. Ronea stayed on the bed-settee, trying to figure out how exactly he’d ended up here and why he no longer felt the urge to run.


	64. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor's visit that goes well or bad depending how you look at it.

“You’re still having troubles with incontinence, Juice?”  
“Yeah… Not all the time, but… Fuck, this is embarressing. I… I use diapers, doc.”  
  
He was too tired to care, that was the only explanation for this. It was embarressing, but not enough to not answer correctly to all the questions. Juice felt strangely calm, maybe it just was the weariness who numbed out the shame, but whatever it was, he actually talked to Dr. Case, who didn’t seem disgusted at all.  
  
“Problem with incontinence and bowel movements isn’t uncommon with the levels of stress you’ve had, Juice, especially not considering the ulcer. It takes a long time to heal from a burnout and I think it’s really good that you’re to see a psychiatrist as well.”  
“I hate it. All of it.”  
“At the risk of sounding like a parrot, that’s not uncommon either.”  
  
Juice couldn’ t help but glare.  
  
“Is there anything you docs don’t consider uncommon? I feel like Pa… like Ronea and Filip always think that I’m not normal and then you say everything is. I mean, come on, what’s it gonna be?”  
“It’s normal to _react abnormal_ to abnormal and unhealthy situations, Juice. As much as we like to think we’re rational creatures, we often act irrational when we’re stressed out. Your cortisol levels were through the roof when we first met and I suspect that’s what Filip and Ronea see as abnormal and want to help you with. Dr. Knowles Gregory is a _very_ nice and competent psychiatrist and I truly believe you would get good help from her."   
  
Honestly, this was exhausting. He tried to answer the doc’s questions, but it was difficult and even more tiring since he had a fever and was on sedatives. It became harder to keep up his adult side and while going through questions about his appetite, dry mouth, back pain and stomach problems, Juice felt how he started to loose more and more of his adult self, feeling confused by all the questions and just wanting Daddy and Papi, and his pacifier.  
  
He turned away in bed, curled himself to a little roll and stopped listening with his hands over his ears, much like a stubborn child and seemingly out of nowhere, he started crying.  
  
He didn’t know how long he’d been laying like that when the blanket he’d clutched over his head was gently lifted and Papi laid down behind him.  
  
“How are you holding up, baby boy?”  
  
Juice hickupped and cried into his pillow.  
  
“No more doctor…”  
“Sweet darling, the doc’s gone for now and she told us you were very good. It was really hard for you, wasn’t it, Juice?”  
“W-was rude to her, Papi…”  
“Yes, and that was naughty, but you did talk to her and tried to answer her questions, which was good.”  
“Wha’s Daddy gonna do?”  
“We don’t spank if we’re sick, baby boy, so Daddy has decided to post-pone it until you’re no longer feverish.”  
“You’re mad at me, Papi?”  
“No, sweetheart, Papi’s not mad at you and neither is Daddy. Normally you know he prefers to discipline as soon as possible after a transgression, but this is a special situation and he’s also gonna take your current illness and all the troubles you have into consideration when he decides on when and how to spank you.”  
“He’s gonna hate Juice until he spanks Juice…”  
“Lord almighty, Juice, _no_! Daddy doesn’t hate you, _I_ don’t hate you and I know that even if this has been a really rough day, you might be angry with us, but you don’t hate us. We all love each other so much and me and Daddy are gonna do everything we can to get you well and happy again. Can Papi give you a cuddle, baby boy?”  
“Papi can.”


	65. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after 24 years together, some men can still fall in love with their husbands all over again...
> 
> (Oh, and there will be another character mention in this chapter, but it's such a small one it's really just a super minor character he's not even worth tagging.)

Juice’s very fragile state after the doc’s visit wasn’t at all surprising and mostly the lad was a Papi cling-on in the days to come. He’d been able to show his adult self during the examination and Filip was so proud of him for that, but it had come with a high pricetag. After a little talking alone with Ronea, the lad had all but slammed the door to adulthood and was once again regressing into a babylike state.  
  
He refused to eat or drink unless it was from the bottle, started crying if Ronea wasn’t in eye-sight and honestly, Filip couldn’t help but feeling a little pushed aside. Juice didn’t need his strict Daddy right now, but his more motherly Papi and any attempts to turn his attention elsewhere, resulted in a hysterical crying Ronea simply couldn’t stand, back pain or not. At least Juice no longer tried to suckle on his breast, thanks to a nifty binder Ronea used underneath his tanktop and the closeness to Papi and the pacifier seemed to work perfectly well.  
  
The lad didn’t cry all the time, in fact, he almost only did so if Ronea wasn’t near and would stop very quickly once he saw him again and got a cuddle. At first, Filip had suspected this being a way of getting out of the awaiting spanking, but when he’d talked it through with Ronea, he was calmed. Juice longed for their usual discipline and part of this regression seemed to come from the fact that he wasn’t heatlhy enough to have a spanking.  
  
A firm but absolutely not hard pat outside the nappy was the best Filip could provide him with right now and when he did, Juice cried like he’d had a rattan cane punishment spanking. It was, to put it mildly, bloody confusing, but what was truly heart-breaking, was the lad’s devestating beggings for Filip not to leave him when he “was a bad Juicy”. In those moments, Juice didn’t want his Papi at all, only Daddy would do and Filip experienced how it was to hold his lil’ one in the sling, silently counting the days until the psychiatrist visit.  
  
Ronea was a mess too, still feeling the effects of the accidental betrayal, but that was a lot easier to handle. Filip knew exactly what his husband needed from him in that state and readily put him in chastity as well as plugged him, only allowing it to be removed when he had to go to the bathroom. Filip, who remained at home again, had the key and Ronea had to go to him every time he needed to be unlocked, since the chastity Filip had chosen this time, was one you had to remove in order to pee and also attached to a buttplug Ronea couldn’t remove without help either.  
  
Denying his husband any sexual relief or stimulation wasn’t a punishment at all, but a restriction in order to confirm their roles. It probably looked fucked up from the outside, but Filip had helped Ronea through distress with this technique many times. Now it was his way of repenting, admitting that he had fucked up no matter if he’d intended so or not, and reassuring his husband that he could still be trusted. The little morning ritual of plugging and putting Ronea in chastity helped a lot with his worrying, giving him a constant reminder of care a protection throughout the day.  
  
Juice didn’t need chastity now. He needed the sling. Filip’s husband was indeed a very nifty man and had improved the sling with some extra support for Juice’s legs and butt that decreased the pressure on the carrier’s back and added a little more weight on Ronea’s legs and backside instead of the lower back and shoulders. It wasn’t perfect, but definitely an improvement and Ronea was now able to do some more work around the house with his lil’ one either on his chest or on his back. Since it helped Juice so much and kept his stress levels from getting worse, Filip allowed it, on the condition that Ronea let go of most of the household work.  
  
As Juice, thanks to his own weariness and good medicine, needed about as much sleep as a two- or three-year-old and didn’t nap more than a couple of hours a day, they put him to bed at half past six and the lad was usually firmly snoozing around seven. Filip had bought a baby monitor and when Juice was asleep, it was finally time for just being a husband again.  
  
They had a routine for that too, mostly because Ronea was simply too mentally exhausted to manage any decisions or surprises after a day as a human beast of burden. As soon as Juice was asleep, Filip sent Ronea out on a jog. Usually, Ronea prefered long walks, but now he needed to burn off some steam and get his poor hips to move a little. When he came home, Filip had already drawn him a bath and prepared the dinner table.  
  
Of course, Ronea wouldn’t allow letting go of control over his kitchen and Filip was a lousy cook anyway, so instead of surviving on take-aways and ready-meals, Filip had made a little arrangement with Bobby and Venus. Neither was as good a cook as Ronea, but they made nice food and had a prospect at the club bring it over every night at eight. The lad Kip, or Half-Sack as he was called due to the loss of one of his testicles, was the youngest at the club and therefor had the less than coveted task of being the delivery boy.  
  
A little shy and awkward as the lad was, Filip always took time to have a little chat with him and make sure he knew how grateful the pres and his husband was, as well as sticking him some tip for the trouble. It was worth it, because Ronea really needed to rest and took the offer with relief as soon as he got used to the idea.  
  
After dinner, they caught up on various shows they’d not had time to follow and then, when the food was digested and Ronea had had some time to just sit and breathe, Filip would give him a massage. His husband’s back and shoulders weren’t the only parts affected by all the carrying and walking and Filip paid special attention to his feet, hips and arms, kneading out knots and stretching sore muscles until Ronea was a human puddle of relaxation. Of course, they had to be ready to stop if Juice woke up but, fingers crossed, it hadn’t happened yet.  
  
They’d not spoken about Tara Knowles-Gregory yet and the visit wasn’t scheduled until five days after Dr. Case’s, but on the third day, as Filip was massaging out yet another knot on Ronea’s shoulders, he brought the subject up again.  
  
“Lovey…?”  
“Uh-huh?”  
“Wha’ ‘bout the appointment? With… yer ol’ doc.”  
  
Ronea sighed, tension creeping back onto him.  
  
“Was hoping I’d be able to ignore that… Pretend it’s not happening.”  
“Well, tha’s not our way an’ even if it was, it wouldna work.”  
“I know.”  
  
His voice was low and too strained. Filip brushed his palms in large circles, focusing on softening instead of working knots.  
  
“Ye wan’ me to call off the appointment?”  
“No… No, it’s… Juice deserves good help and unless she’s had a complete personality change in twenty years, Knowles or whatever she’s called now, is good help. Wouldn’t be fair to… not give him that just because of my background with her.”  
“It’s only an evalutation. Dinnae intend to, ye know, try an’ get Juice on her patient list. After all, tha’s not for us to decide anyway.”  
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, Filip, but it still creeps me out. Seeing her again… Jesus, I don’t know how I’d react. She was a damn good therapist, but having her in our house, talking to her like…”  
“Too close?”  
“More like a… _Jeeesus…._ fucking collision.”  
  
Filip had started with a knot on Ronea’s upper left shoulder and his husband moaned as it began to loosen.  
  
“If ye want to, I can handle the visit myself, lovey.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“That you could take the afternoon off and do something else while I take care o’ the doc.”  
“Seriously? Juice will freak out.”  
“Not if we prepare’im, mama bear.”  
“That doesn’t guarantee anything, Filip. Christ sake, he barely lets go of me. Oh… that’s nice, keep crushing that _fucking_ knot…”  
“But he’s not completely in age-regression, lovey. He still has a suprisingly good amount o’ adult thinking, not to mention sass, left.”  
  
Ronea chuckled.  
  
“He’s desperate for a spanking, poor baby… Maybe that’s one of the reasons he wont let go of me.”  
“Cause he thinks ye’re mad at him if ye don’ hold’im?”  
“I think he’s terrified we’re about to abandon him. We’ve never dragged out on a spanking this long and even if his adult brain knows why we have to wait, I don’t think he’s emotionally capable of dealing with it.”  
“So… when he cannae get the spanking an’ forgiveness he needs, he… makes himself small in order to keep ye close?”  
“I doubt it’s a conscious thing, but yes.”  
“Poor lil’ muppet…”  
“Yeah, I just wish we could make him stop being so scared, Filip.”  
“We will, with time an’ patience.”  
“I hope so.”  
“Well, speaking o’ patience… I think I won’ let ye come tonight either…”  
“Hey! Unfair!”  
  
A little swat on his backside shut him up and Filip knew he was smiling.  
  
“Behave, lovey.”  
“It’s still unfair.”  
“Now ye just made certain there’ll be no cumming. But… if ye behave ye can have my cock before bed.”  
  
This was torture for his husband, the good kind, and Ronea shuddered, clearly feeling much better already.  
  
“You’re putting me in chastity over night?”  
“An’ the plug… keeping my cum inside ye…”  
“Jesus _Christ_ …”  
“An’ if ye behave an’ don’ try an’ have any fun on yer own, I’ll reward ye first thing in the morning, before Juice wakes up.”  
_“Fuck!”_  
  
Ronea had to bite down his fist, instinctively rubbing against the massage table and Filip chuckled.  
  
“Naughty thing… Ye gonnae be my good boy, aye?”  
“Yes… Yes, sir. I’ll be good… Fill me, p-please…”  
“Righ’ now? Greedy…”  
  
It was a game they both loved and Ronea scrambled to get up and change position, widening his legs and keeping his ass up. He was already hard and started to get wet too, as Filip went to get the tools. The chastity device was a softer one, to make it comfortable enough to sleep and Filip locked it firmly before taking a lubefilled syringe to Ronea’s ass.  
  
“Tha’s my good boy… my lenient lil’ husband…”  
  
Ronea was too calm and needy to answer with anything but a wanton moan and Filip soon rubbed his cock along his crack.  
  
“Please, Filip…”  
“Patience, lovey…”  
  
Filip slid back and forth a couple of times and then he pressed inside. It was a slow fuck, but it took no time for his husband to be on the edge, with how relaxed he was now. Ronea smiled while panting, his cock heavy and dripping between his thighs, but he wouldn’t have release now and the man loved it.  
  
He didn’t have to care or think, just bask in the sensations and Filip could feel how Ronea turned to putty in his arms, unable to keep balance on all four and Filip quickly positioned them both on the side, spooning his husband gently and scooted his right leg up, without slipping out.  
  
They’d not made love in a long time, only fucked and it wasn’t quite the same. Their sexlife was healthy, but not always regular because they’d been together for almost twentyfour years and weren’t 25 anymore. There were times when neither of them felt as much need, times when one of them didn’t and they’d been so young when dealing with actual sexual struggles, patience was no longer a virtue, but a given. Adding Juice to parts of their sexlife had been an almost shocking boost, even when he didn’t partake.  
  
Filip buried his mouth in the nape of Ronea’s neck, nibbling to keep his groans down. They’d had playmates in the past, but no one but Filip would ever make love to his husband like this. It was more than a fuck, more than the relief and Filip shuddered when thinking about how no one had seen them this vulnerable together, no previous lovers, no playmates, noone at their club and not Juice. This was only them, Filip and Ronea, old, scarred lifepartners who knew every inch of each other, inside out.  
  
Ronea moved with him, not actively, but like a sinewy wave, moaning softly, almost like a mewl, in a submission so complete only a truly strong human could give into. There was no reluctance, no hesitation, no shame or confusion and the desperate plea to be filled now replaced by that absolutely mind-blowing trust, Filip admired almost to the point of worshipping. It was a strenght he didn’t have himself and probably never could achieve, and even if he did, it would only be a scrap of Ronea’s.  
  
This was his husband, his darling Ronea, giving himself over, body and soul, not only begging for him, but also trusting Filip to give him what he begged for. Filip slid with his hands wherever he could reach, touching skin that was sticky from fragrant oil, warm, scarred and so soft under his palms. He kept his thrusts deep, keeping them both just far enough from the edge, a slow grind that made Ronea’s lax features twitch, his cock so hard it must hurt in the chastity and Filip slid down his hand, only to have Ronea mewl in protest.  
  
“Don’t… Gonna come if…”  
  
And he didn’t want to. Even now, Ronea clung onto his husband’s rule, relied on his promise, his guidance. _God, this man…_ Filip was close to sobbing himself now, high on the trust he lived to be worthy of, the tight heat around him and he felt the shiver raising from his belly, creeping down his spine and he clenched his own buttocks, grasped Ronea’s hips almost too hard, digging blund nails into the skin.  
  
He shouted as he came, couldn’t keep it down, the release almost overwhelming in a way he’d not felt in a very long time and it made him dizzy and heavy, so he tucked Ronea close to keep himself grounded, his own body threatening to take off with him and their roles were suddenly reversed. Ronea was the anchor, the safety, Filip’s one and only focal point and it was this man’s meekness that made them both strong. In that moment, as he came down from the high, Filip wondered if he’d ever loved his man more than now.


	66. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning before the psychiatrist appointment.

Wendy Case had proven to be as broad-minded in her views on Juice’s current state of mind, as she was when it came to kinks and unusual family arrangements. Although the doc’s visit had been upsetting for Ronea’s baby boy, he’d still co-operated enough to make progress, even if it would take time before there’d be any visible effects from the new meds. As things were now, on the morning of the day when Tara Knowles – or Gregory – would show up, Ronea very much felt like an actual parent to something between a defiant toddler and a hormone drenched teen.  
  
Juice’s behavior played through the entire spectrum of human emotions and Ronea had no doubt they’d both turn actually crazy had not Filip stayed at home. Except from when the boy slept from pure exhaustion, he was more or less constantly reeling from feelings he was too tired to handle but unfortunately not tired enough to sleep off. Spankings and cuddles in the sling were the only things that worked now and most nights Ronea broke down and cried once Juice was asleep. Filip, the amazing man he was, did whatever he could to make it easier for him, giving backrubs and doing the household, simply doting on him whenever he had the chance, and that was the only thing that stopped Ronea from literally running away screaming.  
  
This morning, Ronea fed him the now constant gruel for breakfast in bed. He used a softer sling for that, one in stretchy fabrics as it didn’t require actually carrying Juice. As they boy sucked on the bottle, he seemed calm and safe in the position and it wasn’t uncomfortable or straining for Ronea either. In fact, it was rather cozy.  
  
Ronea nuzzled his baby boy’s hair and kissed his forehead.  
  
“Good boy, Juice. Papi loves you so much… My sweet baby boy who’s doing so well. Papi’s so proud of you, angel…”  
  
Continuing to treat Juice like an actual baby, even increasing the extent of it, had actually been Dr. Chase’s suggestion, until the psychiatric appointment. It would only be more upsetting for Juice and risk further damage if he couldn’t wind down from the stress the doctor’s visit had caused him and Dr. Knowles-Gregory had agreed, so long as Juice didn’t show signs of actual psychosis or the condition got worse in a physical way as in loss of appetite, increased sickness or fever.  
  
Thankfully, apart from the tearful tantrums, babylike separation anxiety and overall exhaustion, Juice didn’t seem to get worse. He slept well, finished his bottles, used his diaper regularly and didn’t protest against any part of the caretaking. As long as Papi was near, preferably physically touching him, Juice actually reminded a lot of an infant who felt safe in his mothers arms. Ronea used these moments of peace to all but bury Juice in cuddles, hoping that this crazy arrangement somehow could satisfy the actual baby Juice’s lack of love and care from the past. It probably didn’t work that way, but the need, the desperation in Juice’s eyes whenever he felt too far away from Ronea, was just screaming abandoned, traumatized baby and since the adult Juice seemed tucked away somewhere, hidden where he couldn’t be reached at the moment, Ronea was determined to indulge this love starved little boy who’d taken the grown man’s place.  
  
This form of reaction to childhood traumas was extreme even with all the things Juice had been through, Ronea was very much aware of that, but he also knew how difficult, if not impossible, it was to messure a human being’s actual suffering. The transformation from the submissive, highly capable and intelligent but also out of his wits scared grown lover to this little bundle of helplessness had first been gradual, but then swift and brutal, shocking really. Being thrown between such extremes, especially in such short amount of time and in so many turns, would drive the most stable human being into psychoses and actions far more destructive than wearing diapers and sucking on bottles.  
  
Ronea smiled, shaking his head as he realised how caught up he’d been in Juice’s personal struggles to remember how many equally desperate things people could turn to that were actually life-threatening, maybe harming other people too in the process. Juice could’ve taken to violence, either towards himself or others, could’ve gotten his hands on firearms or gone drunk-driving on his bike. He could’ve started using drugs, OD’ing or ended up in some criminal gang, taking his pain and misery out on others, probably die before turning thirty… The thought was gut-wrenching and Ronea once again tucked his boy closer, kissing his crown.  
    
“My little baby… Papi will never leave his sweet little Juicy, I promise…”  
  
When the bottle was empty, Juice promptly snuggled up closer to Ronea’s chest and fell asleep as soon as he’d had his pacifier. He’d been washed but his diaper had only been wet this morning and Ronea sent a prayer of thanks to the opened window, the table fan and scented candle that provided the room with protection for his nose as his snoozing boy used his diaper, carefree as an actual baby.   
  
Ronea sighed and patted the boy’s back.  
  
“You’ll get through this, sweetheart… We all will…”


	67. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, y'all! Lets start it with a piece of sad backstory and just lots of angst. TW: child abuse.

If Papi was there, he was safe. If not, anything could happen and by anything, that meant something terrible. It felt like a part of Juice’s brain had shut off. He vaguely remembered having had reasonable, adult thoughts, but he couldn’t recall how it felt like. It was just a blurr and Papi was the best, no, the _only_ protection against it.  
  
“Baby boy, the doc’s gonna be here any minute. You gonna let Papi go downstairs to… “  
  
Juice right out whined and Papi shushed him, rubbing his back. He’d barely been able to stand being away from Papi’s arms during the diaper change and clung onto him like a monkey.  
  
“Okay, sweetheart, you win. Papi stays. We let Daddy open the door, okay?”  
  
Yeah, Daddy could do that. Juice settled again, resting on Papi’s chest while sucking on the pacifier. It felt so warm, so safe and cozy laying in Papi’s arms like this, smelling his scent that was strong around the neck, feeling the gentle hands stroking his back. Papi wore his old cardigan and Juice loved the soft fabrics, how it too had the man’s scent and Juice grabbed it, clutching it really just to make sure that Papi wouldn’t leave.  
  
“It’s gonna be alright, Juicy. Let me tuck you in a little.”  
  
The blanket was soft and warm, like something suited for a baby and in this moment, Juice couldn’t care less about anyone seeing him like this. The world felt too enormous for him to handle, like it could swallow him whole unless Papi held him and he sniffled a little. Papi cooed and rocked him, nuzzling the crook of his neck.  
  
“There you go, sweet boy. I know you’re feeling scared and overwhelmed and just lost right now, but me and Daddy are taking care of this, Juicy. You’re safe and the nice doctor will help you.”  
“S-sorry, Papi…”  
“What are you sorry for, my little love?”  
“Ba-ad Juice…”  
“What? No, no, baby boy, you’re not bad! Shh, it’s okay, sweet baby, Papi knows you’re a good boy who only deserves the best.”  
“B-bad Juan C-carlos… _Ba-ad…_ ”  
  
***  
  
_Thirty years and ten months earlier_  
It was the cleaning lady who heard it first. The desperate cries from a newborn in number 17 with the umbilical cord still on. The girl who’d signed in was gone, hadn’t shown any ID and paid in cash so whoever this Teresa Ortiz actually was, or if her name was real at all, was impossible to know. But she’d washed the boy, diapered and wrapped him in a warm blanket and put him in the small roller bag so he wouldn’t fall off the bed or lie on the floor.  
  
A small paper note on the blanket said “Juan Carlos Ortiz” and that was it. The less than a day old baby boy, still attached with the umbilical cord to the placenta, was screaming his lungs out and Mrs. Rousso had forgotten about her duster, trying to rock their newest guest calm until her co-worker, a teenage girl working extra, came back from the closest store with a bottle, formula and diapers. Mrs. Rousso didn’t trust social services to be there before the boy scared all the tenants off and had she not had four little ones herself and barely gotten by, she’d probably taken him on herself.  
  
When the social care worker showed up almost two hours later, Juan Carlos was fed, burped, changed, dressed in too large onesie from the lost and found box and had come to rest in Mrs. Rousso’s arms with a pacifier in his little mouth. The doctor who examined him could decide time of birth to approximately two hours before found and Mrs. Rousso had a word or two to say to the other close-by tenants who apparantly were all blind and deaf, at least at night. No one had seen the girl leave and while some had heard the baby cry, they’d figure the mother just had a hard time getting it to sleep and they were all too drunk to really be bothered. Anyway, no one recalled seeing the girl at all and the boy needed medical attendence so as soon as the social care worker had all the information there was to have, left her card to both Mrs. Rousso and some of the tenants, she took the little one to the hospital.  
  
Aside from being born in secret and abandoned in a motel room, Juan Carlos Ortiz seemed to be in good health with no signs of drugs or deceases from his mother. She’d taken care of herself during pregnancy and the boy had a normal weight, responded normally to his surroundings and took the bottle without problems. A sweet kid, easy to look after and surprisingly healthy considering his rough start. There’d be dozens of child-less couples, longing for a baby, who’d line up for this boy if they couldn’t find his birthmother or any relatives.  
  
They couldn’t, but the requests for infants born in motel rooms with no traces of his past what so ever, decreased when the sweet little boy turned out to have severe colic that didn’t seem to get better. The first couple gave up after two weeks, the second after just nine days. The third endured long enough to almost pass the colic state but couldn’t bond and also didn’t know enough about the dangers of shaking. They’d been devestated when realising they could’ve hurt the child and relieved to hand it over to people better suited and not as exhausted.  
  
The fourth couple was way better equipped to care for a then three months old baby who was still coilc and things started to improve. The older boys, a two-year-old, a five-year-old and a nine-year-old, how ever, hadn’t expected to become brothers to a screaming baby that wasn’t their _real_ brother and when mom turned so much attention to the little foghorn, the five-year-old started to hurt it in secret. Pinching, removing the pacifiers, taking the blanket away when no one watched. And, when no one heard, scaring it with screams, roars and putting it in the crib with the lights out.  
  
Maybe it wasn’t fair to remove him, since the couple hadn’t hurt him and were horrified when discovering the bruises and scratches, but when things escalated to putting pillows over the baby’s face when mom and dad thought their five-year-old had started to accept and even like his little foster brother, the social-worker really had no choice. The couple were loving parents, no one could question that, but they were also naïve and hadn’t been completely honest, especially not to themselves,  about the extent of their middle-child’s aggressive behavior. And so, when it was time for couple number five in about as many months, no one should’ve been surprised by how desperate the five months old baby was for protection. At the follow-ups, how ever, the foster mom called it neediness and clinging. He’d been removed by her request, shortly before he turned one.  
  
Juice didn’t have many memories from his first years and certainly not the very first. But six families in just one year wasn’t a good start by any standards and that number was a red flag to couples looking to adopt, so the foster system his social worker had worked to hard to remove him from, was ready and waiting.  
  
He’d been in orphanages, foster homes and one time even spent three months emergency placed with nuns. He remembered that and it was actually a nice memory. The sisters had a daycare for toddlers and it was almost like having siblings at day and lots of moms all the time. Sr. Lisa was always so gentle when bathing the four-year-old, especially when it came to the slowly healing bruises, Sr. Ursula’s food tasted so nice and Sr. Mary Patrick was the best soccer buddy ever. The other kids were mostly fun to play with, rarely picked on him and if they did, the sisters would intervene. The only time it felt strange, was when the other kids’ parents came to pick them up and some of them joked about how such a big boy still hung onto to Sr. Lisa’s skirts. They didn’t know about the last foster dad and his yelling and kicking. Hiding behind the foster mom’s legs had meant a little safety, even if she then had to take the beating.  
  
The day a couple that had been visiting several times,and seemed really nice too, even bringing him candy and apparantly knew the sisters, had come to take him home, Juan Carlos was hiding behind Sr. Lisa’s legs with his stuffed bunny, crying. Eventually, he’d let go and been promised that Sr. Lisa and the others would come to visit him, but he’d still cried in the car with Mr. and Mrs. Cruz, for most of the 400 miles to New Orleans.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Cruz were adopting him, which wasn’t the same as foster care, Sr. Lisa had explained and up until realising that she and the other sisters wouldn’t be in the same city, Juan Carlos had been really excited, if also a bit nervous, about it all. He’d have a real mom and dad, his very own, just like those at the daycare. What the four-year-old didn’t understand, was that 400 miles was a very long way, a fact that became horrifyingly clear to him as the ride went on and on. He’d been impossible to comfort, his new mom and dad were unhappy and when neither candy or cuddles, reassuring words or singing helped, new dad had stopped by a side-road and spanked him hard.  
  
Juan Carlos was silent the remaining journey and there’d been no more candy or singing.  
  
Coming home to a room prepared for a longed for child, wasn’t nice at all, because after the silent ride with a sore backside, Juan Carlos didn’t feel longed for at all and all he longed for was Sr. Lisa and his own bed in the room he’d shared with Sr. Mary Patrick. He didn’t want to look at the toys, he just clutched onto Mr. Bunny, the stuffed animal the sisters had given him when first arriving to them. Mr. Cruz got frustrated when he didn’t care about the nice toys they’d bought for him and put the bunny in the fireplace, forcing a hysterical Juan Carlos to watch it burn.  
  
He couldn’t remember exactly how long he’d been in that particular home, only that he tried to go looking for Sr. Lisa as soon as he had a chance and each time Mr. and Mrs. Cruz got angry and would punish him. They also got new locks for the doors and even windows, so that he couldn’t run away.  
  
Juan Carlos learned that he was a _bad boy_ , an ungrateful brat _but since his mother hab been who she was, who could be surprised? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…_ Why waste any efforts on a spoiled little punk who didn’t appreciate this nice home _a kid in his situation would’ve given anything to have?_  
  
The strange thing, was that for the most time, he was a very calm and quiet child, only raising hell if he felt abandoned and scared. Otherwise, he was easy to handle, but some people didn’t like that either. Many adults thought he was up to something, from the way he’d look around suspiciously and quiet, and Juan Carlos found out that up to something meant that he was _planning on being naughty and_ _boys like him were naughty_ , a lot of adults seemed to know that. Juan Carlos didn’t know what _boys like him_ meant, because no one told him who they were, so it appeared to only be him. He was the naughty boy, even when he didn’t know he was, so why even try? He already knew that naughty boys would be hit with table tennis rackets, shoes, switches and belts. That Santa didn’t bring presents to naughty boys and that _the social services came and took naughty boys away_ when they didn’t behave.  
  
He learned that his mother being _who she was_ , meant that she was a whore who’d spread her legs for any loser, whatever that meant and that _one could only imagine what kind of low-life nigger that had knocked her up._ Juan Carlos had never seen Sr. Lisa or any of the other sisters again and was soon convinced he’d never deserved them either and that they were probably really happy he was gone. If his _no good whore junkie mother would’ve known how naughty he was, she’d been happy for getting rid of him too._  
  
He was a bad, _bad_ boy and no one would ever want him…


	68. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Knowles is finally visiting - and Juice is in a very bad head space.

Tara Knowles-Gregory didn’t seem the least shocked or even surprised, which was good. The plan to let Ronea out of the house had been tossed out the window, since the other option was a completely hysterical Juice who no longer seemed to be an adult at all. Ronea even had to bring the lad with him to the bathroom in order to make himself a little more presentable, because letting Papi out of sight, seemed to actually make the lad think he’d been abandoned.  
  
Now, the doc was sitting in the same chair as Dr. Case had, only this time Ronea was in the bed, holding Juice like a baby in his arms. Filip’s poor husband looked equally exhausted and embarressed, clearly wishing himself miles away and Juice… well, he was convinced that Dr. Knowles-Gregory was there to take him away because he’d been a _bad boy_. In fact, that was the only thing the lad seemed capable to say. He kept repeating that _Juice was a bad boy_ , shaking and stuttering and Filip felt so helpless, not even knowing where to start explaining things to the doc. It turned out, he didn’t have to.  
  
“Juice? Who’s the man holding you, sweetheart? What’s his name?”  
“P-papi…”  
“Papi. Okay. Juice, my name is Tara, I’m a doctor and I can safely promise I’m not here to take Papi away from you. Papi wouldn’t allow anyone to take you away, right Papi?”  
“That’s right, I’d never allow that, my little love and neither would Daddy.”  
  
Embarressed or not, Ronea didn’t care about anything than soothing Juice now and Filip was so proud of him, of his husband’s increadible strenght, and almost as grateful for the psychiatrist who played along, accepting Juice’s very private names for them without as much as batting an eye. She smiled very softly at their still shaking little lad.  
  
“You feel safe with Papi, Juice?”  
“An’ Daddy…”  
“Yes, with Daddy too. It’s really good that I could meet you with your family, Juice.”  
  
Bless her. Filip had to swallow and look away for a moment, because while both him and Ronea had reminded Juice that they all three belonged together so many times since he’d come to live with them, it felt strange, almost shocking to hear someone else refer to them as that. Juice’s _family_. That’s what they were, a family if ever so unusual, but a family still. None of them had counted on, or been prepared for it, but not a single fibre in Filip’s body, or any of his little greys, disagreed. Juice belonged with them, no matter his mental state.  
  
Dr. Knowles-Gregory took out a notepad and a pen from her bag and made herself comfortable in the chair.   
  
“How would you feel about answering some questions, Juice?”  
  
The lad looked up at his Papi for guidance and Ronea kissed his hair.  
  
“It’s okay, baby boy. No one will get angry or disappointed with you at all. The nice doctor needs to ask you about things so that we all can help you, okay? Right, Daddy?”  
“Aye, tha’s right, Juicy. We’d like ye to tell Tara here how ye’re feeling, lovey. Think ye can do tha’?”  
“Remember Papi told you about a nice doctor who helped him once, Juice? That nice doctor was Tara here. You can trust her, baby boy.”  
  
God, the effort it took for his husband to say those words. Filip doubted Juice or Dr. Knowles-Gregory could tell, but it required all the strenght and courage Ronea could muster and Filip silently prayed that it would be worth it. The doc remained calm and kept her friendly smile.  
  
“You don’t have to be afraid or ashamed of anything, Juice. I understand if you do, but that doesn’t mean you should. I fully respect that special relationship you have with your Daddy and Papi and how you’ve decided to form your family. Everyone has the right to choose his or her own life and which kind of relationship to have, so long as no one gets hurt. And from where I sit, Juice, it doesn’t look like you, Papi or Daddy are hurt from your relationship, quite the opposite.”  
  
Filip had, of course, told her the basics before the visit, but he was still surprised to hear how natural and respectful she addressed the matter.   
  
“Juan Carlos is bad…”  
  
This would break his heart. Juice had turned back to the crook of Ronea’s neck and his Papi stroked his back. Dr. Knowles-Gregory folded her hands together.  
  
“Who told you that, Juice?”  
“Dad did.”  
“Daddy told you you were bad?”  
“No, _dad._ Juan C-carlos is bad, so… dad said he had to go.”  
  
Clearly, _dad_ wasn’t _Daddy_ and Filip quietly sighed from relief. Ronea rubbed Juice’s shoulder in slow  circles and the doc nodded.  
  
“Do you know dad’s name, Juice?”  
“C-cruz. Mom and dad took Juan Carlos from s-sister Lisa ‘cause Juan Carlos was naughty. A-and then d-dad _burned_ Mr. Bunny!”  
“I’m so sorry, Juice. Did Sr. Lisa gave Juan Carlos Mr. Bunny?”  
“Y-yeah…”  
“Filip…?”  
  
Ronea’s voice was barely audible over Juice’s devestated cries and when Filip looked at his husband, the man made a small stroke at his own dry cheek. That’s when Filip realised he himself was crying.


	69. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi steps up and the doc makes a special offer.

His own personal discomfort had vanished with the short, horrifying tale of “Mr. Bunny” and Ronea no longer felt any embarressment over his own role as Papi being put on display for his former therapist. All he felt right now, was the externally calm and internally raging mama bear, ready to go berserk on “mom and dad”, especially “dad”, who’d burned an already scared and sad little boy’s stuffed bunny and also taken him from this sister Lisa, who’d given that bunny to him.  
  
It was clear that Juice was floating in and out of these painful memories and Ronea certainly had no degree in psychology, but there was just no way in hell that he’d let his baby boy be admitted to a psych ward alone in this state. Not without Papi and Daddy going with him. That simply wasn’t an option. Ronea swallowed and nodded at his husband, who’d managed to pull himself together and put his tears at bay.  
  
“Filip, would you mind if I talk to Tara alone a moment?”  
  
Filip shook his head.   
  
“Course not, lovey. Ye wan’ me to take Juice?”  
“No, it’s okay.”  
  
Thankfully, Filip seemed more relieved than disturbed by the prospect of being left out for a moment, and he rose from the chair and gave first Ronea and then Juice a small kiss, before leaving. Juice sobbed a little and Ronea rocked him.  
  
“Shh, baby boy, it’s alright. Daddy’s not leaving, just waiting outside for a little while.”  
  
The boy calmed down and Ronea kept petting him, sighed a little and looked at his former therapist.  
  
“You remember me, Tara?”  
“Of course I do, Ronea.”  
“I didn’t know Filip had contacted you. One hell of a coincidence…”  
“You could say that.”  
  
Ronea swallowed.  
  
“I’m alright. In general and with you being here. I just want to help Juice, in any way I can. So does Filip.”  
“I know.”  
“I don’t want Juice admitted to a ward.”  
“Papi…?”  
“Shh, baby boy, I’m not gonna leave you anywhere.”  
  
Now he did the same thing he’d scolded Filip for doing, giving promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, but Ronea felt with his entire being that his baby boy should stay with his Papi and Daddy. The separation anxiety was simply too strong, too much for Juice to handle just as Wendy Case had said and Ronea rocked him again.   
  
“I know you’re the expert, Tara, but I just can’t bear being apart from Juice now.”  
“And I wont suggest that, Ronea.”  
“You wont?”  
  
Tara shook her head and put her notepad away.  
  
“Normally, I would, but this isn’t a normal situation and I don’t think a psych ward would be the best place for Juice right now, not even if you went with him.”  
“Then what do you suggest, doc?”  
“A 48-hours home observation, to begin with, then daily appointments with me for a short period of time. It would have to be scheduled after hours, of course, but it’s the best I can do.”  
“Is that even… legal?”  
“As long as it’s medically ethical, yes. I’d like for you and Filip to take notes, as much as possible and, since I don’t have any resources, especially not any who’d be fit for this task, record the observation if possible. Of course, no one but me or anyone you allow access, will see it. And you don’t have to record _every_ moment. There’s still room for privacy.”  
  
Ronea sighed and looked at Juice.  
  
“What do you say, baby boy? You’ll allow Tara to help you, to help Papi and Daddy too, like this?”  
  
His baby boy looked confused but not like he was on the brink of an actual psychosis. Just very, very fragile and probably not fully aware of what his Papi asked. Ronea nuzzled his hair.  
  
“You feel confused, Juicy?”  
“Yes, Papi.”  
“Tara wonders if, instead of you going to the hospital, it would be okay to let her film us here at home. Then she can watch the tape and see how you feel. It’d be easier for her to know how to help us, baby boy.”  
“And the confidentiality is absolute, Juice. We will sign papers for that.”  
“Juice… not leaving? N-no one’s… taking Juice away?”  
  
_Don’t cry. Don’t you fucking cry now, Ronea Telford-Tully._  
  
Ronea took a deep, slow breath, suffocating the sadness that wanted an outlet.   
  
“Papi and Daddy want their Juice with them and nowhere else, my little love. We love you so much, Juice, we’re your family, remember? Families stick together, baby boy.”


	70. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jumping forward a few days since the doc's visit and the little family is on a new routine and Juice on a new medicine he's not too fond of.

“But Juice don’t wanna. Makes Juice tired.”  
“I know, lovey, but they also make ye feel better.”  
“Do not, Daddy.”  
“Uh-huh. But dinnae ye feel a lil’ better this morning, kiddo?”  
“Was _tired_ , Daddy.”  
“Aye, but yer tummy dinnae hurt, did it, lovey?”  
  
Juice had to think. He was sitting up in bed and Daddy held the lunch tray with that little plastic cup with the pills that made him feel sleepy and heavy. He didn’t like the feeling, but if he thought about it, his stomach didn’t feel so rumbly this morning. Daddy sat the tray down on the nightstand and took the cup.  
  
“We’re really gonnae have a fight over this, Juicy? Ye know ye gotta do wha’ Daddy an’ the doc say, even if ye get a wee bit tired. T’is helping yer tummy, darlin’. Oh… Mary, Mother o’ Christ, Juicy, don’ cry.”  
  
Too late. He cried so easily these days, especially since the doctor’s first visit. He wasn’t even sure why, only that he couldn’t stop the waterworks at all. Daddy put the cup away and hugged him.  
  
“Wha’s with the tears, li’l one?”  
“Wan’ Papi…”  
“Laddie, Papi’s having a shower, but he’ll be done soon.”  
“Juice wan’ _Papi_!”  
“That my baby boy crying, Filip?”  
  
Papi was barely dry, had only a towel draped around his hips and hair dripping as he came hurrying from the bathroom.  
  
“Juice? What’s wrong, baby boy?”  
“Papi!”  
  
Juice wormed away from Daddy, reaching out for Papi who was wet from the shower and dripping water all over the bed, but Juice didn’t care. He sniffled into the chest and Papi kissed his crown.  
  
“There, there, sweetheart… Why’s Papi’s little love crying?”  
“Make Juice tired…”  
“You… want Papi to make you tired, baby boy?”  
“No, he says the meds make him tired, lovey.”  
“Oh.”  
  
Papi lowered down to get on eye level and he stroke Juice’s cheek.  
  
“You don’t want to take your meds, sweetheart?”  
“Nuh-uh. Juice gets sleepy.”  
“You remember what Dr. Case and Dr. Gregory told us about temporary side-effects, Juice? That it can take a few weeks for your body to get used to the medicine? You remember that?”  
“Yeah… Yes, Papi.”  
“Well, it’s only been three days since you started with the new medicine, baby boy, and sleepiness is a common side-effect. If you need to, we can look at the leaflet again and the section where the side-effects are mentioned, so you can see for yourself. But I’m afraid you’ll have to take the medicine, Juice. You wont find out if it works properly unless you give it a try and if you still feel too sleepy in a couple of weeks or you feel anything else that’s uncomfortable, we’ll talk to Dr. Case, okay?”  
“’Kay…”  
  
Papi didn’t make the meds go away, but talking to the doc sounded like an okay compromise. Reluctantly, Juice took the cup and swallowed the content with a sip of water.  
  
“Good boy!”  
“Tha’s a good lad, Juicy.”  
  
Praise and kisses made it feel a little better. Papi adjusted the towel around his hips and smiled.  
  
“Papi’s making a wet trail everywhere, baby boy. You’ll be alright with Daddy now so I can dry up and get dressed, sweetheart?”  
“’Kay, Papi.”  
“Good boy.”  
“Thanks, lovey.”  
  
Daddy kissed Papi too and then Papi left to the bathroom, but didn’t close the door and Juice eagerly accepted to be moved onto Daddy’s lap in bed and take the bottle. It was tomato soup today, Papi’s yummy recipe with lots of herbs and some kind of unsweetened soycream to make it smooth without upsetting the tummy. Normal dairy products didn’t go well with Juice’s insides anymore but Papi’s substitutes were delicious and today’s lunch easy to swallow.  
  
It wasn’t quite the same being fed by Daddy, but what he lacked in cuddliness, he made up for in protectiveness and Juice could still hear Papi getting dressed so things already felt a lot better. He couldn’t figure out why his mind was like a see-saw, only that it was very tiring and that the meds seemed to make him more tired.   
  
When the tomato soup and the blueberry soup for dessert were finished, Daddy gave him the pacifier and put him to rest in his arms on the bed.   
  
“Time for a lil’ nap, laddie. Ye did really well, Juicy. Ye need a change?”  
“No, thank you, Daddy. Juice isn’t tired.”  
“Nay? Ye wannae bet, lovey?”  
  
Juice couldn’t come up with an answer before his eyes shut. He woke up half an hour later, still in Daddy’s arms.   
  
“Hey there, sunshine… Ye awake now?”  
  
He blinked a few times and squirmed a little.  
  
“Wet, Daddy…”  
“We’ll get ye a clean nappy, lovey.”  
“Where’s Papi?”  
“Downstairs. I told him to take a nap too. Daddy’s boys are both tired today.”


	71. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy listens to a conversation without really eaves-dropping.
> 
> I have shamelessly stolen a little from this song by Sonata Arctica, "I Have a Right", because the chorus is so fitting for what Juice should've had as a kid and never got. Link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLtE1D79Krg

Patrick Telford had never been a good father. The old bastard hadn’t been outwardly cruel by his standards and the alcohol had played a big part in his rage and beatings. But among all the faults the man had, burning wee bairns’ toys wasn’t among them. Filip listened with half an ear to Ronea reading Juice a story. It was from a children’s book, strictly speaking, but classical fairytales weren’t just for children and the lad looked content in his Papi’s arms. He didn’t even seem to care that he was being filmed.   
  
The camera was hidden to keep from distracting them so they could act natural during this 48-hours observation and of course never filming moments like baths or diaper changes. What Dr. Knowles-Gregory needed to see, was how Juice interacted with them, how he expressed his feelings and how he functioned in his daily life right now. In this moment, the camera caught an extremely fragile man who’d regressed mentally to a childlike state and sought comfort from his Papi.  
  
That’s how it should’ve been twentyfive years ago, Filip thought. A father reading his son stories, hugging and kissing him and making him feel safe and loved. Comforting him when he felt sad. Not beat him, scream at him or burn his toys. Patrick Telford had tossed more than a few things around the house in his bad moments, but it had never been a specific attack on something Filip or maw liked. It was a random outlet, whatever being within arms reach and could be thrown, no matter what it was, was at risk, even his own stuff. One time he’d broken a small glass bird he’d given maw as their engagement gift and actually glued it back together again. It was one of few times Filip had seen da genuninly sorry and ashamed.  
  
Another time he’d thrown up all over Filip’s block and crayons, ruining about thirty pictures. Filip had cried, da had told him to be a man and smacked his head, but two days later, the man came home from work with a brand new block and crayons. He didn’t say he was sorry, that was beneath Patrick Telford, but his violence and outbursts had never been calculated. They were simple, nasty and painful, but there was more random desperation than malice in his beatings and barkings and it was impossible to picture him burn a childs’ toy.  
  
What kind of arsehole did that to _any_ child, if it so had a whole toystore left? Doing it to a vulnerable foster kid, burning his stuffed bunny for crying after the nun who’d given it to him? Only a psychopath would do such a thing.  
  
“Papi?”  
“Yes, baby boy?”  
“Juice will get big again?”  
“Absolutely, my angel. You’ll become big Juice again when you’re ready. But you know what?”  
“What, Papi?”  
”You’ll never get too big for Papi’s cuddles. Or Daddy’s.”  
“Juice loves Papi an’ Daddy…”  
“We love you too, baby boy. You wanna hear another story, love?”  
“Please, Papi… Papi sing to Juice?”  
“A song? Of course, sweetheart. How about Papi’s song about Ohio, hm? It’s a kinda sad one, but I like it.”  
“Wanna hear it, Papi. But… first…”  
“What is it, my little love?”  
“Juice knows how it was, Papi… Little Juice knows…”  
“Knows what, Juice?”  
“Was a big Juice before… Right?”  
“You were.”  
”But not now.”  
  
Ronea frowned and put the book away while Filip pretended to read his own.  
  
“You’re scared you wont come back to being big again, baby boy?”  
  
The lad shrugged, as much as he could in his cuddled position. Then he started clutching Ronea’s cardigan sleeve.  
  
“Don’ like change, Papi… Wanna be big Juice again, but… my head gets so messy… ‘M scared.”  
“Oh, baby…”  
  
Ronea bent down to cuddle Juice closer, kissing his hair.  
  
“You know, Juicy, things aint that black and white, angel. Sometimes we feel all grown-up even when we’re kids and other times it’s like we’re kids again, even if we’re thirty, fifty or seventy. Some people are forced to grow up far too soon, others never have to take responsibilty or meet any real challenges in life, so they can go on being carefree as children for as long as they want to.”  
“Juice is neither, Papi.”  
“No? Then who’s Juice, baby boy?”  
”Juice is a freak. An’ stupid an’ weak an’…”  
”Hey, stop it, baby boy!”  
  
Filip’s husband rarely got sharp with Juice and the lad let out a sob. Rone looked like he was cursing internally and rocked him gently in his arms.   
  
“Shh, sweet boy, Papi didn’t mean to be hard on you. It’s just… I love you so much, Juice, and it makes me so sad when you say those mean things about yourself. Because they’re not true, my love, and I know that you learned to think they were because a lot of nasty people lied to you. You remember there was a man who hurt Papi a very long time ago?”  
“Y-yeah. No one can hurt Papi!”  
”Shh, he can’t hurt Papi anymore, baby boy.”  
”Can too. Papi was scared.”  
”Yes, I was, my angel and sometimes Papi gets upset when thinking about him, but he can’t hit me or say mean things to me anymore. Daddy helped me to keep him away, baby boy. Daddy and his friends. When they found out that nasty man had hurt Daddy’s boyfriend, they made sure he couldn’t come near Papi ever again.”  
“Papi was scared…”  
“You’re right, Juicy, Papi was so scared and hurt he could barely stand it. That nasty man almost ruined his life completely, but Daddy helped Papi healing. Took a long time, but I became myself again, baby boy.”  
“Cause Daddy saved you.”  
  
Ronea’s sad smile always made Filip’s heart ache, but he didn’t want to intrude on his husband’s and lover’s conversation, not just for their sake right now, but for the documentation as well. He wasn’t eaves-dropping, they were all outside and Ronea was fully aware of that Filip’s “book reading” was only for show now. Maybe Juice wasn’t, but by speaking so calm and openly about what Aaron did to him, Ronea tried to teach the lad that it wasn’t dangerous. He kissed Juice’s crown again.  
  
“Well, yes, but I saved myself too, Juice. You know what we’ve said about how important it is with consent, right?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Can you tell Papi what consent means, love?”  
“Uhm… When you… say it’s okay to do something to you?”  
“Yeah, that’s right, my smart boy. Consent means that you agree to do something, but you know what’s necessary for that to happen?”  
“What, Papi?”  
“You have to be _fit_ to make that decision and feel free to say yes _or_ no.”  
“What… what if you’re not fit, Papi?”  
“Well, there are circumstances when people may need to make some decision for you. For example, if you get really, really ill but don’t want any help. Sometimes illness and other painful things can make our minds very messy and make us think that we don’t need or deserve help. We may get badly confused or even start to see or hear things that aren’t there. When that happens, other people may try and help us get better until our minds aren’t so messy anymore.”  
“Your head was messy, Papi?”  
“Oh, you have no idea how messy it was, sweetheart… What would you say if tomorrow, when Papi wakes up, he tells Daddy and Juicy that he’s ugly and disgusting?”  
“Papi’s not disgusting!”  
“I know, baby boy, no need to be upset. Papi _knows_ he’s not ugly or disgusting or stupid or weak or any of those nasty things he was told. Papi knows it’s wrong to be mean to him and that Daddy would never do anything to hurt him, but many yers ago, Papi was badly confused. Daddy got very sad every time Papi felt ugly and disgusting, Juicy. He still does, because he loves Papi so much. Daddy has helped Papi to make the messy thoughts sorted out for more than twenty years and together and with help and patience, we’ve gotten rid of a lot of the most nasty ones.”  
  
Ronea was truly _Papi_ now. For a man so completely uninterested in kids and the prospect of actual parenthood, Ronea was a bloody pro with his _little_ boy, both firm and soft, pedagogical and, most important, he spoke about his own pain without shame or fear. Without telling the lad that his thoughts about himself were wrong and by that add more shame, he guided him through the process by using himself as an example of acceptance. It was just amazing to witness.  
  
“Our feelings aren’t always right, baby boy, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore them or shut down, quite the opposite. When we have really messy heads, it’s very important that we learn how to put words to that mess with people who want to listen, even if it’s scary and difficult. Sometimes though, we talk to people who _sound_ like they’re listening even if they aren’t and we trust them because they sound so certain, maybe they’re also angry or loud. And when that happens, it gets very difficult for our own words to be heard.”  
“Dad said Juan Carlos shut up. Stupid Juan Carlos…”  
“That was a very, _very_ bad thing of dad to say, Juice. You know what I think? I think Juan Carlos felt really hurt when dad said that to him.”  
“Sad Juan Carlos… Dad took Mr. Bunny…”  
“Dad was really, _really_ mean for taking Mr. Bunny, Juice. And dad was also very mean for saying those mean things. Juan Carlos wasn’t stupid and he had the right to say what was on his mind. He had the right to be heard and when he was hurt, he should’ve been given comfort, baby boy. Dad should’ve said ‘I’m sorry for saying that you’re stupid and for telling you to shut up, Juan Carlos, because that was wrong and mean of me to say.’ And then dad should’ve hugged Juan Carlos and told him ‘Dad loves you no matter what, my son, and you’re my smart, sweet boy whom I’m so proud of. Can you forgive for saying that mean thing to you, son, because it wasn’t true and I will never say it again. I always want to know what you’re thinking and feeling.’ _That’s_ what dad should’ve said to Juan Carlos, Juice, and he never ever should’ve taken Mr. Bunny away.”  
  
Fred Tully wasn’t a particularly good father either. Not as bad as Patrick Telford and definitely not even near to those bastards who’d failed Juice through eighteen years, but Ronea’s words about how a good father was supposed to be were an echo of, not a father, but a mother. Of Elizabeth Tully who’d raised an empathic, sensitive and strong man with good morals. Ronea’s way with Juice had a mother’s touch, because he was truly his mother’s son.


	72. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope last chapter cleared things up a little about Filip. This time, the husbands are taking a closer look at themselves.

The observation was over and nothing major had happened, except from Juice talking. He still refused to be away from his Papi, not even Daddy would do unless Papi was at least within earshot, and it had been a quite painful experience to go through the tape with Filip. Deciding what to show the doc wasn’t easy, but surprisingly it also felt good for Ronea to see himself interact with his boy. Filip felt the same.  
  
“Am I sounding too sharp here, lovey?”  
  
They watched a sequence where Filip was convincing Juice to take his sleeping pills and the boy made a fuss about it until the more stern “Daddy voice” told him a third time. Ronea rewinded the moment and looked again.  
  
“No, not really. It’s balancing on the edge, but not tipping over.”  
“I think he looks scared…”  
“I don’t think he was scared of you there, Filip. He’s still scared of the new meds and worried he’s gonna have nightmares, that’s what the fuss is about, from what I can see.”  
“God, I never would’ve picked up on tha’. How can ye tell?”  
“Look at the way he’s meeting your gaze. He’s not hiding from you, he’s seeking assurance. He’s worried, yes, but he’s looking to you for help because he knows what Daddy says goes. You’re not doing wrong here, but I think you should try and soften your voice a little, or maybe use some more endearments.”  
“Aye, ye’re right.”  
  
Together they walked through the tape, containing mostly their now everyday schedule, but Juice’s confusion, fear and how he constantly searched for especially Papi with his hands or gaze, was very telling. Ronea shook his head.  
  
“It looks like he’s actually convinced something terrible is going to happen if we’re not within reach.”  
“If _ye’re_ not within reach, lovey. Daddy can still be in the background, as long as Juice knows I’m there, but he needs his Papi like a newborn needs his maw.”  
“You think the new meds haven’t kicked in properly?”  
“It’s still a wee bit early to say. Gotta give it a few more days.”  
“Yeah, I guess…”  
  
Most of the stuff weren’t too hard to watch or analyze. It was obvious that Juice’s regression was very real and increased as soon as the anxiety rose, which could literally be anytime. It was difficult to pinpoint any particular triggers, apart from being separated from Papi. Filip frowned.  
  
“To me it looks like ye’re left to do all the work while I’m jus’ sitting by.”  
“Don’t be absurd, Filip. You said it yourself: you can be in the background so long as Juice knows where you are. Can’t you see how he’s sorta looking without really thinking about it, to make sure Daddy’s still around?”  
  
Ronea gave his doubting husband a kiss.  
  
“Trust me, baby, I _know_ that look. Your boy is canvassing the area and the moment he sees Daddy, he stops and looks at me again, because only then he truly feels safe. I may be his mother dummy right now, but you’re his guard who’s making sure that he can talk to Papi, or talk at all. If you’d not been there, I don’t think Juice would’ve opened up like that and my work would’ve been a lot harder.”  
  
Next came the second mention of “Mr. Bunny” and this time, as Juice wasn’t around to be disturbed or scared, neither Ronea nor his husband could keep their tears away.  
  
“I just… I can’t stop thinking about going on a fucking murder spree, baby… He was so _little_ , he probably still thought that bunny was a living thing… I tell you, Filip, if I ever find out exactly who those people are and they’re still alive somewhere, there’s a huge chance I might do something really fucking stupid.”  
  
Ronea sobbed into his hands now and Filip pulled him close, kissing his hair.  
  
“Thank God ye’re too smart for tha’, ‘cause orange was never yer colour an’ ye cannae leave yer husband an’ lil’ one on their own. Ye need a violent outlet, I’ll get ye a punching bag, lovey.”  
“I’d rather find another bunny for Juice…”  
  
Filip hummed and sniffled a little.  
  
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout how he’s never asked for or seems to need any children’s stuff apart from the soother, I mean, like toys, in this state he’s been in. Ye think this is why?”  
“Maybe, but that’s a wild guess at best. He’s not played once since he started acting like this and he’s not really degradring his speech in the way he pronounces words and he’s responding to things addressed to an adult Juice.”  
“Aye, he does.”  
“I’m starting to believe that he’s not actually shutting adulthood out, only shutting his own adult feelings down.”  
“To protect himself from the shame… Of course… He’s speaking ‘bout himself in third person to keep the anxiety at bay.”  
  
Ronea nodded, wiping his face.  
  
“We gotta allow him that, Filip, at least for now. If that’s the only way he can express his feelings right now, we should encourage it. Look at how he curls back into my arms afterwards, seeking comfort instead of shutting down and stop talking. And right after that, he starts looking for you again, just making sure you’re still there, but he’s actully not too anxious.”  
“He’s more sad than scared…”  
“Maybe that’s a good thing… Jesus, that sounded horrible.”  
  
His husband smiled and there was a look of pride in his eyes.  
  
“Horrible as it sounds, t’is actually _really_ good, Ronea. Ye’re pure amazing with our lad. The doc’s gonnae be pleased.”


	73. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some Little Juice/Daddy moments. I've decided to let Juice think of himself as two, not different persons, but sides right now. Little Juice is his most childlike side but this is absolutely not a case of him splitting personalities or hiding from feelings or detaching himself from feeling small, but his way of slowly learning to reconnect with himself again.
> 
> And Daddy has a special reason for encouraging that separation as well.

There was strictness and then there was Daddy’s and Papi’s particular brand of strictness. The former meant fear, the latter protection. Juice still tried to worm his way out of the meds, but Papi and Daddy never gave in. They didn’t yell, didn’t call him names, made threats or tried to physically shove them down his throat. They just kept talking, kept reassuring and cuddling him until he was just too exhausted to do anything but accepting the pills.  
  
Something had changed in their behavior, but _Little_ Juice couldn’t really figure out what, and to his surprise, it didn’t even bother him. His Daddies seemed even calmer and stronger than usual, which was _really_ fucking calm and strong, like human rocks. Everything in Little Juice screamed for him to obey and that’s how the urge, no matter if he initially made a fuss about the meds or anything else, always won in the end.  
  
Obeying Papi and Daddy meant praise. A lot of it. They also kept telling him why he should obey. Why it was important that he finished his meals, took his meds or had a nap. Nothing seemed too small for them to have a plan for. Little Juice loved looking at his schedule. It had bright colors and pictures, a clear timeline and contained things to look forward too.   
  
Rolling on the playmat to massage his back was one of them, especially since Papi would help him stretch his muscles too. It barely hurt in an entirely bad way now, which was a novelty, and it felt so good to move a little on his own. They practised sitting without back support and Papi rewarded him with little sticks on something he called a prize board. It was a long piece of cardbord that Papi had drawn squares on and decorated with nice colors. Everytime Little Juice managed to sit on his own for a while, even if he lost balance, Papi gave him a sticker to put on the board. At the top of the board, there was a star and Papi explained that it meant Juice would get to choose a reward.   
  
It could be almost anything Daddy and Papi could provide, within reason and, of course, within Little Juice’s own limits. Food and sex were not allowed though, since neither Daddy nor Papi liked the idea of using those things as rewards in general, and Juice was simply not in the right mindset to be sexually intimate in any way.  
  
While Juice no matter what headspace he was in, generally didn’t like surprises, he loved putting stickers on the board and it also gave him a sense of control, small as it was. His exhausted brain responded to childlike things and expectations now even he couldn’t really put those exact words onto it. It was what it was and the meds helped accepting it.   
  
Spankings were temporarily off the table. It wasn’t appropriate to spank kids, Daddy said, which was confusing to say the least, but Daddy had explained. Times where different now and while Daddy’s da had spanked him too, since he thought it was the right thing to do, it wasn’t, because it didn’t teach little boys and girls anything but fearing a punishment, and it was also illogical. Just because it was legal, didn’t mean it was right. For _adult_ baby boys and girls, it was different, because they could choose it for themselves. However, Daddy didn’t think Little Juice’s mind or feelings were “big enough” for spankings yet, or any actual punishments.  
_  
It can put ye in a bad headspace, lovey, an’ Daddy wannae teach ye how to jus’ talk about things tha’ ye think are naughty now. Tha’ way we can figure out how lil’ Juice an’ grown-up Juice both think an’ feel. Also, ye know tha’ Daddy an’ Papi don’ think it’s okay to hit wee ones in any way._  
  
While Little Juice still needed Papi around all the time, it felt perfectly fine if Papi did something else when Daddy had his little talkings, as long as Papi was within earshot. Little Juice soon realised that his strict Daddy was actually a lot of fun and their “lessons” contained plenty of smiles and after a few days with the prize board , also jokes and laughters. Little Juice couldn’t really remember the last time he’d laughed this much, but it was funny when Daddy asked him if it was naughty to, for example, hide Papi’s dressing-gown. (It was, but not if you gave it back when he’d looked for it for a minute or so. If you waited too long to tell him, you’d been naughty and could end up with your least favourite breakfast.)  
  
_Within a minute or minute an’ a half, t’is teasing an’ annyoing, but not really naughty, laddie. But what if you, lets say, hide it an’ doesn’t tell’im at all?_  
  
This morning, right after breakfast, Daddy had Little Juice cuddled up in his lap on the couch for one of their little chats while Papi did the dishes. Little Juice sucked on his pacifier and Daddy tried to define _naughtiness_ to him.   
  
It was naughty to say mean things to and swear at each other, but using swear words were perfectly fine when they weren’t meant as an attack on someone who didn’t deserve it. It was also just as naughty to speak ill about oneself, as it was to it about others.   
  
“Ye know why it’s equally bad if I say ‘I’m stupid an’ ugly’, as if Papi would say it ‘bout me?”  
“No, Daddy.”  
“Because it’s mean words an’ also not true. An’ when we say mean an’ untrue words ‘bout ourselves, we hurt ourselves an’ tha’s not okay. Why’s it naughty to be mean towards ourselves, Juicy?”  
“Juice doesn’t know, Daddy.”   
“If you think really hard about it, how does it feel when someone’s mean towards ye, lovey?”  
“Juice gets sad.”  
“An’ is tha’ a nice feeling?”  
”S’not, Daddy.”  
”Right. So, is it naughty or nice, to give someone sad feelings?”  
”Naughty.”  
”Then isn’t it naughty to _give yourself_ sad feelings too?”  
     
Little Juice fell silent, thinking hard just as Daddy had told him to. He’d never really thought about it like that before and searched for a memory to put the new thought onto.  
  
“You once told Papi not to… say he was a clumsy idiot for dropping the eggs on the floor. That was naughty, Daddy?”  
“Aye, tha’s right, kiddo! Good lad, remembering so well! Papi lost grip o’ the egg basket an’ he dinnae mean to, of course. But did tha’ mean he was a clumsy _eejit_?”  
  
Little Juice shook his head.  
  
“Nuh-uh, was not. Papi was clumsy, but no idiot, so he shouldn’t have said that. Wasn’t true and… and it makes Daddy sad. And when… Juice or Papi say mean things ‘bout themselves… it’s naughty ‘cause it makes them… feel bad. An’ t’is not nice to feel bad.”   
”Exactly. _Good boy_ , Juicy! Tha’s another sticker on the prize board for ye.”  
“Really?”  
“Aye, ye know why?”  
“Daddy please tell Juicy?”  
  
Daddy smiled and kissed his forehead.  
  
“Because my good, smart lad jus’ showed Daddy tha’ he understood wha’ Daddy told him ‘bout being nice to yerself. Daddy’s so proud o’ his Juicyboy an’ so will Papi be when we tell’im.”


	74. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice gets a nest.

It worked. After having fumbled in the darkness for so long, they’d finally found something that seemed to give real results and during the updates with Dr. Knowles-Gregory and Dr. Case, both the ones they had with Juice and the ones without him present, there were actual proofs of progress to show. It wasn’t all smooth, far from it, but things felt a lot more stable now.   
  
Ronea and Dr. Knowles-Gregory had together come up with the idea of a _worry corner._ By the kitchen window there was a spot that could be seen from both the kitchen, the hallway and the garden and Ronea placed a quite large, thick mattress there, complete with blankets and pillows. The pad was an old mattress cut into two huge triangles to fit on top of each other in the corner and covered with a sheet. On top of it, there were four different blankets and a bunch of pillows of various sizes.   
  
It wasn’t a naughty corner, in fact is was absolutely forbidden to be used as such, but a kind of nest where Juice could go whenever he felt worried and didn’t know how to express it, or couldn’t find out what was bothering him. If he went over there, either Filip or Ronea – mostly Ronea since he was Papi – would wait a few minutes and then walk over, but not too close, just sitting down on a little distance to show that the cuddly nest was _Juice’s_ to rule over – a smart way of teaching him to re-discover his own right to make boundaries – and then gently ask him if he wanted to talk or have a cuddle or both.  
  
It was very important to follow Juice’s lead there, which could be difficult at times, especially when the lad was obviously anxious and had difficulties to talk. Just sitting by and see his lil’ one in pain and having to wait for his permission to comfort was hard, when all Filip wanted to do was to cuddle him. Ronea was way more comfortable with that, calm as a cucumber and often bringing his knitting or embroidery while waiting. At first, it seemed fruitless to Filip, but when he’d seen his husband in action with the worry corner/cuddly nest a few times, he began to see a pattern.  
  
Ronea’s calming presence, close but still _outside_ Juice’s personal space, with the very physical boundaries of the mattress to confirm that there was a “border” between them that Ronea – or Filip – wouldn’t cross without an invitation, were meant to teach Juice about limits. Not other’s but his own. That he, in fact, had the right to his own space but still wouldn’t have to feel alone or abandoned when he needed some time there. When Juice was in his worry corner/cuddly nest, he didn’t have to think about expressing himself, something that had always put an extra layer of anxiety on top of what had caused the original one. He didn’t have to talk or explain things, he could just get a moment to collect his thoughts or feelings and only when he felt ready, he could invite Papi or Daddy or both to the cuddly space, or leave it.  
  
It was evening and Ronea was cooking dinner while Filip kept him company – in other words: annoyed him – in the kitchen. Not that he was banned from the kitchen in that sense, but his husband loved cooking and right now, when Filip was home and could keep an eye on Juice, it gave Ronea a moment to himself in a sense – and Filip couldn’t resist to just watch it.  
  
His husband had a minced beef lasagna in the oven while preparing a salad with arugula, sweet pepper, sugar peas and cherry tomatos and Filip fondly recalled Juice’s “robbery” of one tiny plant and the deadpan confession. As always when cooking or baking, Ronea had his hair in a short ponytail and some hairgrips to keep it away from the food and he wore one of his old, checkered shirts and a pair of loose-fitting, black pants. And while he seemed completely focused on arranging the lasagna sheets, Filip knew his husband had at least one ear and half an eye at his boy.  
  
At the moment, Juice seemed less worried and more just in need of a little alone time, which was fantastic. He didn’t actually do anything in the nest, just laid in a little roll among his mountain of pillows and blankets, watching his Papi cook. What caught Filip’s eye, was that Juice didn’t have his pacifier. Come thinking of it, the lad actually rarely used it when he was in his nest. He didn’t crave for his Papi to hold him as often either and Ronea no longer had to walk around carrying him. The sling was used for a little while every day, ususally after lunch when Juice needed a nap and they sat down on the couch. Ronea’s back and Filip’s hands were equally grateful for that.  
   
“Filip, love, would you be a sweetheart and get Juice changed before dinner?”  
“Sure, darlin’. Juicyboy?”  
”Yes, Daddy?”  
”Can ye come outta yer fortress so Daddy can change yer nappy?”  
“S’not a fortress, Daddy.”  
“Nay? Wha’ is it then, laddie?”  
”Nest. Juice’s nest.”  
”Ah, of course. Well, could ye come outta yer nest, Juicy?”  
”Depends, Daddy.”  
   
A choked sound came from the stove, where Ronea tried not to laugh. Filip hid his own smile a bit and looked at the lad who was curled up but not hugging his knees, which meant he wasn’t anxious. The big, brown eyes were as always a bit tired and heavy, but Juice actually seemed… fine. Well, as in what they counted as fine these days.  
  
Filip walked over to the nest and squatted down at the “border”, looking at his lad with a friendly smile.  
  
“Wha’s on yer mind, lil’ one? I thought lil’ lads were supposed to obey their Daddies.”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Juice had the most gorgeous look of defiance on his face, much like a little kid who just wanted to test limits and Filip realised what the lad was doing and sat down crosslegged, still not crossing the border. Two could play this game and Filip could teach his lad how to do it nicely.  
  
“Wha’ are yer demands, oh lord o’ the pillows?”  
  
The fit of giggles were too bloody cute and Ronea cracked up too. Filip made a mock glare at him.  
  
“Hey, we’re in the middle o’ negotiations here, ma’m.”  
“ _Ma’m?_ Watch your tongue, Mr. Telford! And ask the lord of the pillows if he’s ready to come out from his nest and have some lasagna.”  
  
Filip looked at Juice again.  
  
“Would ye, my fair lord o’ the pillows, bless us humble peasants with yer noble presence at our lil’ banquet tonight?”  
  
Ronea stared at him for a moment and then looked up to roof with an incredulous expression in his face as Juice broke down in more giggles.  
  
“Lord almighty, how did I end up with that man…?”  



	75. Ronea/Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lord almighty, how did I end up with that man…?”
> 
> Well, here's how the marriage, or at least how the wedding went. In other words, we're jumping about 21 years back in time again - and also travelling roughly 8000 miles to Edinburgh. It's sappy as fuck because it's a honeymoon journey and Filip and Ronea are romantic disgustoids.
> 
> Oh, and GBMCC is an actual UK gay bikers club founded in 1977, although I couldn't find info on their presence in specific Scottish towns, so the Edinburgh charter is entirely made up. Some minor characters will be mentioned here, like Tig, Venus, Bobby, John and the OC McAdrews, president of the Edinburgh charter. Long ass chapter, I hope you enjoy it.

_**Stockton/Edinburgh, 21 years earlier**_  
  
“Do you, Filip Thomas Patrick Telford, take this Ronea Eli Tully to be your wedded husband from this day forward until death do you part?”  
“I do.”  
“And do you, Ronea Eli Tully, take this Filip Thomas Patrick Telford to be your wedded husband from this day forward until death do you part?”  
“I do.”  
“I, Filip Thomas Patrick Telford, take thee, Ronea Eli Tully, now to my husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to protect, till death do us part.”  
“I, Ronea Eli Tully, take thee, Filip Thomas Patrick Telford, now to my husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death do us part.”  
“Then, by power invested in me by your love, this club and our friendship, because the law of this backward place hasn’t caught up with the 20th century yet, I hereby declare you husbands. You may ki… Oh, well…”  
  
They’d already clashed together, Venus was sniffling and once they parted, still able to keep the tears at bay and had both signed the agreement and had the three participants signing as witnessess, along with the lawyer, a friend of Venus’,  who’d helped them put all the legal papers together, Tig was right there to hug them both, kissing their cheeks and congratulate, visibly moved, whispering:  
  
“I have no words… Have no words…”  
  
Then it was Venus’ turn and she spoke sweet nonsense, eyes brimming while constantly lifting her tissue.  
  
“Oh, my babies… Look at you two smashing young husbands…”  
  
Bobby wasn’t much better as he put the paper with the ceremony away, blowing his nose already and giving first Filip, then Ronea, one of his mighty bear hugs that all but made at least Ronea cough. Then the huge man took their hands, squeezing them.  
  
“We’ll wait outside a moment, boys.”  
  
Filip was too moved to do anything but nod and Ronea smiled at their presiding official, his voice already thick.  
  
“Thank you, Bobby.”  
  
Once they were left alone, Filip swallowed and looked at Ronea like he didn’t understand what had just happened.  
  
“Hi… husband…”  
“Well hello to you too, husband.”  
  
Ronea could only keep up his smile and composure to the end of the sentence before he broke down in tears and Filip followed suit. They didn’t kiss but just held each other hard and Filip buried his face onto the crook of Ronea’s neck.  
  
“I’ll never let ye down, never make ye regret this, lovey, I swear… My darlin’… My husband… Lovey…”  
  
They didn’t know by then it would be another eight years before they’d be seen as husbands in the eyes of the law and they didn’t count on it to happen at all. They’d taken every legal action they possibly could in terms of wills and insurances to protect their relationship and one another, been painfully honest to themselves to make this happen and the least thing to bother them this day, was the fact that the vows they’d taken and signed only minutes ago, weren’t acknowledged by society, simply because they were both men.  
  
They had some protection, legally declaring each other next of kin and inheritors, as well as “economic co-partners” and once they could afford life insurances, they’d be eac h other’s beneficiaries too. Law and bigots could go fuck themselves, they were married and their rings were stunning, thin creations in silver with a Celtic knot pattern in white. There’d been gay marriages long before Christianity and other world religions decided to claim the term marriage as their own and Filip still believed with all his Catholic heart, that God blessed them the same as straight ones.  
  
The moment they stepped outside the club’s church – that had been temporarily made into a wedding chapel for this occasion – there were hoorays, applauses, wolf whistles and just general cheers raining over them along with fistfulls of rice and hollering from club members and their families. As wonderful as it was, Ronea felt overwhelmed and Filip caught up on it, giving a sign to Venus as to get things going. After she’d given a very short sort of intro speech and they’d all raised glasses with champagne to the newly wedded, the southern belle started commendeering people around like a deceitfully warm and sweet general, getting everyone in line for the buffet as Tig discretely made way for Filip to take Ronea outside for a moment.  
  
The evening was rather cool and the fresh air at the backyard of the club house, was much needed. They sat down at one of the picnic tables, straddling the bench while facing each other and Filip held his husband’s hands.  
  
“Ye need yer med, lovey?”  
  
Ronea just nodded. He didn’t want to need it, but he’d long since reckognized when the need was greater than the want and Filip reached into his left tartan pocket for the flask with water and small box. He opened the lid and handed one of the three little pills of wonder over. Ronea swallowed it down with a sip of water and let out a small huff.  
  
“Sorry about that, baby. Was hoping I’d not have to take one today… Didn’t mean to be a mess on our day.”  
“Lovey, ye’re not a mess an’ ye have nothing to appologies for. C’mere.”  
  
Filip kissed him, soft and long, then nuzzling his nose.  
  
“I was all but panicking an’ ready to climb out the bathroom window when Tig came to my rescue an’ yelled some sense into me.”  
“Escaping from me already, Mr. Telford?”  
  
His smile was teary, so was Filip’s. From the club house there were Irish and Scottish folk music sounding and Ronea laughed.  
  
“Tig’s never gonna forget us for this.”  
“I had to endure a whole weekend o’ his bloody country shite when I helped’im an’ Venus move five years ago. This revenge is long overdue an’ unlike me, he can get plastered while suffering.”  
  
They both laughed a bit, but soon fell silent, once again just watching each other. Filip looked so… soft, fragile, like he still hadn’t really grasped what they’d just done and he stroke a finger over Ronea’s rings.  
  
“I know it’s… sappy an’ ol’-fashioned an’ all, but… I’m gonnae work to keep earning yer trust, to live up to my vows every day, Ronea… Oh, an’ I spoke to maw this morning an’ she tol’ me she’d hunt me to the world’s end an’ back if I ever let ye down.”  
  
Ronea smiled again, shaking his head.  
  
“Well, my mom would probably have given me a similar speech. And you already have my trust, baby. All there is of it.”  
  
He took up a tissue and blew his nose before getting his powder and had a look in the small mirror, while covering up a bit of the mess the tears had caused.  
  
“How do I look?”  
“Ye’re seriously asking me tha’, as if there’s any other legit answer than _bonnie man ever_ on our wedding day?”  
“Then the answer should be easy, right?”  
  
He grinned at his husband, clearly teasing and Filip blushed.  
  
“Ye’re jus’… God, I…”  
“You look amazing too, baby. Gonna take me out to the crowd now, Mr. Telford?”  
“Aye. Let’s go, lovey.”  
  
***  
  
It was very late and John Teller, the only sober guest at the party, had just dropped the two husbands off at the cabin by the lake and on surprisingly steady feet, Filip managed to both unlock the door and carry his husband over the treshold. He stumbled a few steps before reaching the small bedroom and they both broke into a fit of laughter as they fell into a pile on the bed.  
  
They were both completely exhausted and Ronea groaned as he saw the lube some thoughtful person – probably Venus – had put on one of the nightstands.  
  
“I know it’s probably a crime against… nature or romance or something, but I don’t know if I can do anything without falling asleep like thirty seconds in.”  
  
Filip sighed.  
  
“Thank God, ‘cause tha’ makes two o’ us. Been dreadin’ the though’ o’ start snoring on top o’ ye.”  
“That champagne must’ve been spiked ‘cause there’s no way I’d get this dizzy from just two glasses and the wine.”  
“Had a couple o’ drinks too, right?”  
“Yeah, but you’re talking to the guy who could drown absinth like soda and still walk a straight line.”  
“S’been a long day, though…”  
“Long and perfect.”  
  
Ronea had his eyes closed, cheeks rosy and his mouth was curved into a blissful smile.  
  
“You know, you should wear kilt more often.”  
“Oh, an’ have it fly up when I’m ridin’, getting arrested for exposing myself on the highway.”  
“Full thug life, baby. I’m your old lady now, remember?”  
“Ye’re currently the one in pants, lovey.”  
“And if we weren’t so knackered, I’d beg you to take them off and spank me.”  
“Oh, I would if I could, lovey. Maybe tomorrow before John picks us up for tha’ brunch.”  
  
Ronea made a pleased little hum.  
  
“Shouldn’t fall asleep in these fancy clothes… Come on, lets undress.”  
  
With combined efforts, they got their boots and clothes off, even hung them neatly. Filip even remembered to set an alarm for the morning and then they went under the covers, Ronea curled up on his husband’s chest and less than two minutes later, they were both out cold.  
  
***  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ , wha’s tha’ noise?!”  
“Good morning to you too, husband.”  
  
Filip reached for the shrieking alarm and shut it off. Ronea yawned from his pillow and stretched out like a cat. As Filip rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at the man, the grouchiness from getting rudely woke up by something akin to a fire alarm while being a wee bit hungover and knackered from a long day melted away.  
  
“Mornin’, husband…”  
“Did you sleep well?”  
  
His man had smeared eye-liners, hair was a mess and his smile sleepish. Filip entangled a hand in his hair, slowly rubbing the scalp.  
  
“Aye, but my feet hurt like a bitch… Ye?”  
“I did. You never told me how well you could dance, baby… Quite the surprise.”  
“I danced?”  
“Filip!”  
  
He grinned at his husband.  
  
“Was barely drunk, ‘course I remember dancing with ye. Mastered tha’ jig like an Irishman, who taught ye?”  
“Venus, of course. Didn’t you get suspicious when the entire club joined in?”  
“Was a wee bit occupied…”  
“Yeah? With what?”  
“Keeping up with my suddenly very Irish husband.”  
  
Ronea closed his eyes, smiling.  
  
“I like that… Being called husband. Damn, I’m such a sap…”  
“My sap…”  
“Yeah, I kinda remember promising to obey you or something like that.”  
“Aye… Regretting tha’?”  
“You haven’t even given me an order yet, so it’s a little early to know.”  
“Muppet… I think ye’re feeling a wee bit tense, lovey.”  
“Yeah, probably.”  
“How about ye go over my lap for a lil’ while, before we hit the shower?”  
“Thought you’d never suggest it.”  
  
***  
  
“You two lovebirds look like the cat gotten the cream. You slept at all?”  
  
Ronea felt himself blush from Venus’ greeting and Tig looked far too pleased as well. That horny goat had probably banged his old lady all night. Or had her bang him. Venus placed two cups of coffee in front of the grooms and Filip almost mindlessly pulled Ronea close.  
  
It was a supportive rather than protective move, one his husband had made plenty and Ronea loved it, but today it felt a little different. In fact, it actually felt protective almost to the point of worry, like Filip wasn’t sure Ronea had really said yes and needed confirmation. Ronea swirled their left hands together and discretely rubbed his backside a little against the seat, savouring the tingle from the morning’s spanking and the quite pent-up fuck they’d had. It was far from a romantic all night love making, but it was just perfect for them.  
  
They were sitting in the club house, only the closest guests from the night before, having a delicious brunch with flapjacks, bacon and scrambled eggs, fresh bread rolls and tons of exotic fruit salad. Tig was gulping down his coffee and nodded at Filip.  
  
“What’s your first stop?”  
“We’re leaving for Edinburgh tomorrow morning an’ spend two nights there before we head to sunny Glasgow.”  
  
Ronea smiled at his husband.  
  
“I’ve packed your long johns, baby.”  
“T’is ye I’m worried about.”  
“Please, I grew up in Ohio. I doubt some Scottish weather can break me.”  
  
Filip chuckled.  
  
“Famous last words.”  
  
Ronea made a mock glare and got a peck on his cheek, having him blush again. It shouldn’t feel so different, in fact Ronea had always suspected that marriage and especially the honey moon wasn’t half the bliss people claimed it was, or that a relationship felt that different just from vows, rings and iced cake.  
  
But it did. Not as if they’d somehow turned into different people or become more in love or anything like it. No, it wasn’t the vows of love or even the legal things that were in order, but their own personal contract. It was sealed and witnessed now, Filip’s vow of protection and Ronea’s vow of obedience and the feeling apart from simple weariness this day inside Ronea, was one of great relief. He was twentyfour years old, Filip had just turned twentyeight and now this man officially had final say for both of them. That was very new.  
  
They’d spent three years developing and defining the terms of their very unusual relationship and at times it had been a truly painful and strenuous journey. Ronea’s collection of scars was only one of many signs of that. He’d not been cutting himself for more than a year now and the times when his still quite fragile respect for himself failed him, it was a great help to remember that hurting his body also meant he was hurting Filip. In a similar way, Filip had slowly learned that Ronea didn’t even see the Glasgow smile as anything more prominent than Filip’s hair or tattoos. Their scars were parts of them they’d rather been without, but they neither defined, nor defiled them. Nor did they unite them either. They could still hurt, but mostly they just were.  
   
***  
  
The GBMC clubhouse in Edinburgh wasn’t exactly a romantic suite, but with the long flight and not so sunny weather, Ronea looked like he’d reached heaven as he put his bags down in the guestroom.  
  
“You’re sure they don’t mind, baby?”  
“This is a gay MC club, not Hell’s Angels or A.O.A., lovey. The only thing they have a problem with, is tha’ I’ve not been visiting in five years. An’ the only thing _I_ have a problem with, is the jetlag an’ if McAndrews goes through with the threat o’ haggis. Sorry if it’s not very glamorous.”  
  
His husband threw himself on the bed with a dreamy smile.  
  
“It has a bed we both fit in, a VCR and _bathtub_ and then a bar downstairs, baby. It’s perfect.”  
  
Filip looked at the man he’d married barely 48 hours ago. He appeared exhausted but so content it simply couldn’t be an act and Filip undid both their boots and laid down beside him. He pulled him to lay on his arm and just tucked him close.  
  
“Still wannae try an’ do as we planned with the jetlag, lovey?”  
“Absolutely. I took a sleeping pill last night and then one before we left for the airport. Slept like a baby for most of the flight, so I should be able to stay awake a few more hours.”  
“Ye’re not feeling funny or anything?”  
“Apart from generally knackered, no. I’m just feeling filthy and in desperate need of a shower. Or a bath.”  
  
Filip kissed his forehead.  
  
“I’ll go draw one for us, then.”  
  
A little while later, Ronea was resting in his arms in the rather large tub that actually fitted two grown men well enough to not become too uncomfortable. Someone, most likely one of the club members’ old ladies, had added some bath oils and even candles for them that Ronea had lit with visual delight before sinking down in the hot water. Filip smiled in his hair.  
  
“How ‘bout we jus’ order some takeaway an’ keep to ourselves for the night, aye? Noticed tha’ there’s a video an’ a bunch o’ tapes here as well.”  
“Scottish porn?”  
“I cannae say how much I hope for a _no_ on tha’ one.”  
“Well, if it’s a yes, you still have the final say now. Damnit.”  
  
Filip smiled and nuzzled the crook of his neck.  
  
“Not in all things, lovey. But if there’s a monstrosity as Scottish porn on tha’ shelf, I have to put in my veto. For the sake o’ our honeymoon, if nothing else. How’s yer arse, by the way?”  
“Nicely stinging. Love the hot water… Will you lock me up the day after tomorrow, before the train leaves?”  
“Ye’d like tha’, darlin’?”  
“Very much. Will you?”  
“Well, tha’ depends… Gonnae be a good lad for me tonight, _husband_?”  
  
Judging by the wanton moan and how Ronea’s cock was swelling in the water, that was a yes. The man was so relaxed now, not just from mere weariness, but from the spanking he’d had on the first morning as husbands. The prospect of being put in chastity for tomorrow made him practically purring and Filip loved it.  
  
“You should fuck me in your tartan, baby…”  
“Bloody hell… I dinnae pack it.”  
“No, but _I_ did.”  
“Ye sneaky thing…”  
 “Now that I have a Scottish husband, I should have the right to be fucked by him in a tartan, right?”  
“That so?”  
“Uh-huh. Pretty sure it was in the vows somewhere.”  
“In which part?”  
“Oh, the unspoken one. You might have missed it, but it was there alright.”  
  
***

In a way it almost seemed wrong, the amount of calm he felt in his man’s arms now. They weren’t suddenly different people just because they’d made vows, exchanged rings and signed some papers. They didn’t love each other any more or less than before the wedding and Ronea had already obeyed Filip for a long time. He’d done it not because he’d been forced or even asked to, but out of own free will and signing the document, their very own that only held meaning to them, had just been a confirmation of Ronea’s wholehearted _yes_ to their arrangement.  
  
They both loved playing in the bedroom, but the way Filip had him now, wasn’t playful. There was almost a reverence in the way he touched and Ronea found that he had to close his eyes not to get overwhelmed from it. A part of him was confused by the lack of ownership in Filip’s hands, a wound from the time with Aaron that took time to heal, because being owned was what Ronea for so long had connected with being submissive, even before Aaron.  
  
But there was no ownership, entitlement or conquering in Filip’s hands and eyes, or even contentment. The 28 years old Scot looked at him with adoration that could’ve been too much if it wasn’t for his firm, calm features and the control he visibly had to struggle to keep. Not the control over Ronea, because he had it, freely given, and he knew it, but the control over himself. It was so far from the way Aaron had handled it, it was almost a reversed mirror of it and Ronea felt himself just lean into those strong, gentle arms.  
  
It wasn’t the sex that was important now, not really. It wasn’t fireworks or rose petals, and Ronea was glad for it, because that wasn’t who they were.  Their first time as married was slow and tired, not really soft but not very rough either. Filip’s tartan was getting creased against the small of Ronea’s back and the bed was a little screaky, making them both chuckle because it was just typical. It wasn’t until some minutes in that Ronea realised Filip was taking him from behind for the first time ever, and it didn’t feel unsafe or detached at all.  
  
He didn’t have to see his man’s face to know anymore. Ronea closed his eyes and tilted his head back further, moving his leg a littler higher up to let Filip deeper in. Any other time this would’ve been too little to drive him towards the edge, but Ronea felt how his entire body seemed to make a deep sigh of relief just from this slow fucking and it was intense, almost too much so, but Filip had him. They didn’t talk, didn’t kiss, just were together and when Ronea grasped for his husband’s hands, they came down in a locking embrace, pressing both their arms to his chest. The movement froze.  
  
“Lovey, wha’s wrong? Ronea? Darlin’, ye’re alright?”  
“Don’t stop… Please, don’t stop… Just… holding on… _Harder_ , Filip…”  
  
The pace was still slow, but Filip thrusted harder and slid deeper, hitting his prostrate with every move and Ronea kept their hands tightly knotted together, clutching really, whimpering now as he was starting to crumble, the orgasm just taking over.  
  
***  
  
Edinburgh. It had been years since Filip had visited the Scottish capital and although he’d never lived there, it felt like coming home. It was windy and a little cold today but his Ohio husband seemed anything but uncomfortable on his first full day here, just tucking his wollen scarf a littler tighter and looked around with big eyes. He’d never been outside the U.S before and Filip couldn’t help but feeling a little happy that _his_ home country was the first to have that honor.  
  
They were walking by the Cramond beach and although Ronea shivered a little as his body tried to acclimatize itself to the Edinburgh weather, he looked truly calm. Filip had been worried about that. The prospect of everything, the wedding, the party, the journey, becoming all too much for him and trigger a panic attack or worse.  
  
But it hadn’t. In fact, apart from one pill at the reception and one just before the flight, both occasions more to simply stop overwhelming and anxiety before it blossomed than stopping a fully developed panic attack, Ronea had been feeling _good_ ever since the wedding ceremony. He’d even smiled and joked a little with McAndrews, despite his initial shyness. They were both invited – actually expected – to join the club for a drinking party tonight and meet some of Filip’s friends and their old men from GBMCC.  
  
Filip’s club back in Cali, was gay friendly, but not a gay MC club, and while Ronea had come to feel comfortable and accepted among most of the members there, especially Tig and Bobby, GBMCC was an actual gay bikers club. Dragging his own bike overseas wasn’t an option, of course, but the club had bikes they’d rent or even lend out to some guests. Filip had been riding for seven years and was a member of a club on GBMCC’s “good list”. More important, he’d been a prospect himself before the knife attack and about to get patched in before he’d decided to accept John Teller’s invitation overseas.    
  
“This is an amazing place…”  
  
Filip’s thoughts were interrupted by Ronea’s low voice. He was looking out over the water with it’s restless waves and the grey sky towering over the cliffs and rocky shore.  
  
“You ever miss living here?”  
  
Filip smiled and swirled his arms around his man from behind,  leaning his chin on his shoulder.  
  
“Every day, lovey. But not as much as I’d miss Cali if we lived here.”


	76. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small, but important changes are coming and Juice gets some more time with Daddy :)

It had been a long time, several weeks in fact, since he’d been any further away from the house than the garden and Juice wasn’t really sure how he felt about it. Daddy had helped him make a temporary address change so they didn’t have to drive all the way to his apartment for the mail and basically, Juice didn’t have anything he needed to do away from the house. Papi barely left the grounds either apart from the jog he apparantly took every night when Juice was asleep.   
  
Oh, the sleep… It had become so much better and he didn’t even have nightmares anymore, cuddled between Papi and Daddy in the bed at night. Juice hadn’t fully grasped the amount of impact his sleep had had on his days. It mattered a lot, of course he’d known that, but it was only now that he could really feel the difference.  
  
He went to bed the same time every night and the routine was always the same with some downtime after dinner where he watched movies, mostly classic Disney or Ghibli, and then rolled on the floor for a while to soften his back muscles until it was time for his bath, a clean diaper and the evening bottle with some warm fruit beverage. After teeth brushing, Papi or Daddy would then read to him in bed and both stay with him until he fell asleep, mostly in Papi’s arms and with the pacifier in his mouth.  
  
Eating was also a lot easier and when Juice thought about it, it was probably the first time in at least twentyfive years that he could go through an entire day without having at least some discomfort connected to food. Not every day, but the days it did happen had started to pop up often enough for Juice to reckognize them and even see a pattern. He didn’t always discover the lack of discomfort in the moment it actually occurred, but the very strict routine and the tools he had to keep track of time and different activities without having to constantly ask Daddy and Papi.   
  
Sometimes he even brought the whiteboard schedule with him to rest his eyes upon when he needed some alone time. It was soothing just to watch it and Juice often laid in his usual rolled up position covered in blankets and sucking on his pacifier while just looking at the schedule. The routine very rarely changed and when it did, Juice learned that it was okay for him to feel worried about it. Going to the worry corner/cuddly nest meant that Papi – and Daddy if he was at home – knew he was either worried, overwhelmed or simply just in need of some extra personal space.  
  
Most of his life had been very frantic and unpredictable up until now and by laying in his little nest while still having a rather good view over his nearest surroundings, it was much like being a spectator but still not shut out. Papi and Daddy never suggested that he should take to the nest and didn’t enter it at all, leaving it entirely to Juice to decide how he spent his time there, only still keeping an eye and ear on him. It had become possible to not be physically touching Papi all the time without feeling unsafe.   
  
Papi would sometimes change the blankets and put bottles with iced water in the nest for him. Not regular ones, but baby bottles – Papi had bought a couple more of those – and that felt especially good. Mostly, Juice would just lay in the soft pile and hug a pillow, watching or listening with closed eyes to the sound of Papi’s household chores, feeling safe knowing he had water close by and a diaper on, not having to call for help as soon as he was thirsty or had to go.  
  
Being outside was an afternoon thing in connection with the stretching routine. Papi helped him roll and stretch on the playmat twice a day, and the second time was finished with a snack in the garden. Almost everything on the menu was either liquids or mash, but the afternoon snack was one of Papi’s homemade müsli bars in addition to a small smoothie Juice would drink from a straw instead of the bottle. Like keeping the door to, maybe not his adult but at least older self, ajar. Peeking at, only not yet touching it.  
  
Whenever he was naughty, he’d be in the naughty corner for five minutes, which was a stool in the kitchen and then Daddy would talk to him but never spank him. It was still painful, albeit not to his backside, because talking about feelings and having to express his thoughts was something Juice had never been good at and it always felt like he did a bad and dangerous thing. The question that constantly lured in the background during those moments with Daddy, was what would be the final straw. When would Daddy decide enough was enough, that Juicyboy was simply too naughty and difficult to handle, and stop loving him?   
  
Corner time, Daddy explained, wasn’t meant to separate Juice from him and Papi, but to just have a moment to think about the naughty thing and see if he could figure out on his own why he’d done it and why it was naughty before they had their chat. The purpose was for Juice to learn that it wasn’t dangerous to be alone with a sense of guilt for a little while. It was supposed to teach him that in case he’d done something really naughty and couldn’t find Daddy or Papi to tell them about it right away, the world wasn’t falling to pieces.  
  
At first it felt worrying, but with the help of an egg timer and Daddy being so consequent and never phyisically turning his back on him, Juice’s thoughts would slow down a bit and even sort themselves a little easier as time went by and he’d experienced it a few times. The moment the timer sounded, Daddy came over and sat down, close but not yet cuddling him and asked if Juice knew why he’d been placed in the naughty corner.  
  
If Juice honestly wasn’t sure, Daddy would calmly and gently explain, never rushing and only when he was sure Juice understood, Daddy asked why it was naughty and if Juice understood and agreed it was a naughty thing. For most of the time, he already knew what he’d done was naughty but it helped to have the same routine, much like Daddy handled the spankings. Talking became easier and when Juice both logically knew and felt that yeah, it was a naughty thing he’d done and that he was sorry for it, he asked Daddy for forgiveness.  
  
In a way it was a lot more strenuous than spankings, since it wasn’t as easy to talk without the pain to sort of release the damm and carry him over. But Daddy never rushed him and _Little_ Juice slowly, very slowly, learned that there was always forgiveness to come in the end. Forgiveness and also all the time he needed to cry, talk or just rest in Daddy’s arms. They didn’t cuddle in the nest, but mostly on the couch or the bed, because the nest was Juice’s own space and shouldn’t be connected with any part of the correction routine. Besides, it was easier to cuddle in bed and the correction made Juice really tired. Finishing it all with a nap in Daddy’s arms made it almost impossible for any self-hate or shame to reach him.


	77. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy deals with one of Juice's truly bad moments alone.

“Hey, now… S’alright, lil’ one… C’mere, Juicyboy, come to Daddy, aye?”  
  
A few months earlier he’d not known how to act, most certainly get all anxious himself, feeling like loosing control, but things had changed. His lad hadn’t had a binge in a very long time now, but relapses were part of recovery and right now, as Juice was literally shaking by the toilet, it was Filip’s job to make him realise that he wasn’t alone in this – and that Papi’s life wasn’t even remotely ruined even if Juice had cleaned out his entire stash of homebaked goods and thrown them all up. The only thing Filip was angry about right now, was the fact that he’d fallen asleep by the telly not two minutes after Ronea went out on a late jog and not heard his lad eating through the unlocked pantry. Ronea never locked it before they went to bed and this was just one of those moments of really bad timing.  
  
Filip cuddled and shushed the trembling body on the bathroom floor, once again so tense with fear, pain and anxiety. He could almost feel in his own body, the absolute terror and chaos running inside Juice now. How his mind once again was controlled by the self-hatred that spun in so vicious circles. All there was to do, was to be the strenght, the calm and the boundaries the binge had shredded.  
  
Juice made a small, whining noise and Filip kissed his crown.  
  
“Poor, wee darlin’… Daddy’s here, s’gonnae be alright, my boy. Daddy’s held Papi so many times like this in the past, s’nothing we cannae handle together, I promise ye.”  
“P-papi… mad…”  
“No. Nonono, lil’ one. Papi doesn’t give a fuck ‘bout some biscuits an’ rolls, lovey. T’is just bread, kiddo, an’ Papi will make more. No, he’s not gonnae be upset by tha’, only ‘bout his lil’ one feeling bad again. Ye’re not gonnae get punished for this, Juice, I cannae stress tha’ enough.”  
  
It both was and wasn’t new, what he’d been doing since Juice temporarily moved in. With Ronea, Filip’s reactions were built into his very core and it was so long ago since he’d learned the patterns of his husbands demons, he no longer had to stop to think in order to help him fight them. The obedience was Ronea’s sacrifice and the protection his. In all situations, Filip had sworn to protect his husband, that was such an ingraved part of who he was, it had sometimes been difficult to re-learn Juice’s particular need of that safety.  
  
Right now, this might as well have been Ronea after a self-harming session, only with pukes and cookie crumbles instead of blooded scars. Something had woken Juice up from his sleep and triggered this binge and no doubt, his own mind was throwing accusations at him that ranged from disgusting to unworthy of any kindness from the rest of his life. Filip tucked him closer, nuzzling his hair.  
  
“Sweet darlin’, ye’re not a bad boy. Healing takes time an’ me an’ Papi know there’ll be moments when the anxiety wins, but tha’ doesn’t mean ye’re bad or disgusting or naughty. We love ye so much, Juicy. Daddy loves his lil’ lad no matter what an’ as soon as ye’re ready, we’re gonnae get ye something for both yer tummy an’ mind.”  
  
There was another little sound, but Juice leaned into him and that was good. Right now Filip couldn’t move to get the med, but Ronea would be back soon and give him a hand. As it was now, all Filip could do, was to simply cuddle his beloved Juicyboy and try to make him feel safer. The puzzle that was Juice’s past was still difficult to put together, scattered as the pieces were, but the pattern was at least clearer now.  
  
Juice had been denied proper nourishment for long periods of time, some of his foster parents had used food as a tool for punishment and that had seriously fucked him up. He’d also been abandoned, Filip didn’t yet know how or by whom, but most likely it had happened more than once and considering how he’d never been able to turn into a street kid in the usual sense, Filip was pretty sure by now that Juice had never learned to truly read people and by extension mistrust them the way lots of abused kids did. There must’ve been enough people and situations throughout his childhood that had, if not actually cared, at least presented enough of it to Juice during his most formable years for him to never really give up hope.  
  
A soft heart, easily hurt and unable to stop longing for love. A mind that had learned early on that food, when controlled by others, easily could be taken away. Juice’s binges had confused Filip a bit, since they didn’t really came with a general obsession with food or exercise. Sure, the lad was careful about eating and didn’t skip gym unless he was literally forced to, but in no way had his daily routines been dominated by it. Juice was sniffling, but he seemed a little less anxious after having been cuddled for a while and Filip rubbed his shoulder.  
  
“Can Daddy pet yer tummy, kiddo?”  
“Y-yeah…”  
“One must be _nice_ to Juice’s tummy, lil’ one. Must be nice to _all_ o’ Juicyboy.”  
“N-no sp-spanking o-or n-n-naughty corner?”  
“Absolutely not, my love. We never ever punish thing we cannae help, laddie, especially not anxiety. Ye know wha’ Daddy did those times Papi wasn’t nice to himself?”  
“Wh-what, Daddy?”  
“Daddy held him, jus’ like I’m holding my Juicyboy right now. An’ Papi was sad an’ worried an’ dinnae have nice thoughts ‘bout himself, so Daddy hugged an’ kissed’im, because he loves him no matter what. An’ ye know wha’, even if Papi _had_ decided all by himself, _without_ the anxiety, to be bad to himself, I still would’ve loved’im jus’ the same. Everyone has struggles, lil’ one, an’ both ye an’ Papi have a lot more than most people. Daddy knows tha’.”  
  
While Filip at first had wished that Ronea had been there to help him handle this, he’d now forgotten about his own limits and short-comings, completely focused on simply comforting the lad in his arms.  
He could feel Juice relax just slightly to tuck himself into the crook of his neck. The smell of pukes didn’t bother Filip one bit and he scratched Juice’s shoulder a little.  
  
“Can Daddy ask ye something, lil’ one?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“I know tha’ sometimes people wouldna’ let Lil’ Juice have certain foods tha’ others in the house were allowed. Were there also times when _Lil’_ Juice went to bed hungry, because people said he couldna’ have dinner at all?”  
  
The tiny sobs turned into a full-on cry, almost as if Filip had pressed a physical button with his words. Juice lost all that was left of his tight control over himself and there was no longer a man sitting in Filip’s lap, but an actual child. A hungry, mistreated and utterly miserable little boy who’d learned far too early on not to cry because he would neither be fed nor comforted so why show needs and thereby vulnerability? Safest way to at least get some nourishment, would be to grab it in the moment, even if it meant being caught red-handed and get punished. These were not adult Juice’s tears over past pain, but Little Juice’s twentyfive years old, bottled up sorrow and unsatisfied hunger. Filip kept petting and rocking him.  
  
“Oh, lovey… I cannae imagine how hard ye must’ve fought to try an’ keep healthy with food all these years.”  
  
Juice had been ripped and _looked_ utterly healthy, at least physically, when they first met, and it was just horrifying to think of how he must’ve pushed himself to keep up that appearance, especially at work. The binges came when he was too stressed to cope and that in turn lead to feelings of guilt that inevitably would build up to more stress and the nasty circle was complete. Picturing his young lover doing that to himself, was just as awful as Filip’s memories of Ronea’s cutting.  
  
“Filip…?”  
  
Almost as if he’d heard Filip’s thoughts and rushed to aid, his husband came into the bathroom, positively sweaty and with red cheeks in his black tracksuit. He only threw a glance at the mess and then lowered down to kneel in front of Juice. Filip hadn’t even heard the door and realised he didn’t have to explain anything to Ronea. The man knew exactly what had happened and he was calm as a cucumber.  
  
“He’s had an Alka-Seltzer yet, baby?”  
“No. Sorry…”  
  
Filip made a hopeless little gesture and Ronea understood.  
  
“I’ll get it. Just hang on, I got this, baby.”  
  
Ronea went to the kitchen and when he came back with a buzzing glass, Filip could tell that the cleared shelves and pukes in no way were enough to throw this amazingly strong man off balance.


	78. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to comfort a sad and hurt little Juicyboy.

Before Juice, Ronea had never really seen himself as a comforter. Filip didn’t need that thing from him, at least not in this sense, and Ronea had always been too shy to make deeper friendship bonds with people, long before Aaron fucked things up. He could truly say, without a doubt, that his relationship with Juice, although it wasn’t even a year old, was the deepest and most sincere he’d formed with anyone apart from his husband.  
  
Ronea didn’t believe in fate or to try and turn past pain into some sort of “training” for a greater cause. That kind of shit just served to encourage unhealthy and plain wrong thoughts about abuse, as if it was somehow meant to be, and Ronea hadn’t spent more than twenty years fighting his PTSD to give in to that kind of quackery. No, this wasn’t about fate, but probably shear damn luck that out of all roses Juice could’ve thrown up on, it had been those belonging to a man who didn’t know he had a need to pass on the comfort and love that once helped him heal. God or fate or whatever, nothing in this world justified starving and hurting a little kid.  
  
Juice needed this from him. The anxious boy who’d cleared the cookie shelf in a binge-eating attack he couldn’t handle on his own, needed his Papi partly because of the bond of self-harm and abuse they unfortunately shared. Filip had never fallen that deep into the pit of self-hatred, even after the slicing of his face, because that attack hadn’t been the culmination of long-term abuse. Not that one could compare an almost four years old adult relationship with an entire childhood. Ronea didn’t want to think that it was amazing that Juice was able to love to this extent at all, but it was.  
  
Together, Ronea and his husband had given Juice a warm bath and while Filip cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, Ronea sat with his baby boy in his arms by the fire. He’d had a quick shower himself as Filip had put a clean diaper on Juice and dressed him in sweats and a tanktop and there were no smells of pukes or sweat lingering. His baby boy had managed to eat a lot very quickly and Filip had given him a very small laxative during the diaper change, that would start working soon. It wasn’t ideal, but with the stress Juice already had on his stomach, it was better that he took a proper dump rather than having more stomach ache or felt sick again.  
  
Juice sucked on his pacifier now and was curled into a little roll on Ronea’s lap. In fact, he reminded a lot of a suspicious and frightened but still somehow trusting toddler, or a small pup or kitten who had started to learn he would probably not be kicked, but couldn’t let down the defences entirey yet. The meds had kicked in enough for him to start relaxing though, which was all the miracle one could hope for in this moment.  
  
The boy nuzzled into his chest and Ronea smiled.  
  
“You like Papi’s old rag, baby boy?”  
  
He was actually wearing a shirt he didn’t really use much anymore, due to it’s wornout state, but Juice liked the soft fabric and would often nuzzle when Ronea wore it. It was almost time for the reoccuring wardrobe cleaning Ronea did twice a year to get rid of their most threadbaren rags and this shirt was supposed to go with that load.  
  
On the other hand, Juice clearly liked to grab and nuzzle things he connected with both his Papi and Daddy and while the room they’d planned on decorating for him had been put on hold, maybe his baby boy would like something for his little cuddle nest? A patch-work blanket, perhaps, partly made of clothes that his Daddies had used… Ronea bent down to kiss his boy’s hair.  
  
“My sweet, sweet little love… Papi wishes nothing more than to make his baby boy happy, you know… I know I can’t make all the sadness go away, but I still wish I could… You’re not alone in this, my baby, Papi and Daddy love you so much and I’m not upset about the cookies.”  
  
He really wasn’t. The only thing he was upset about, was that his beloved had been overridden with anxiety and not been able to wake Filip up before it took over. He was also a bit upset with the fact that he’d been out running just when Juice had needed him, but Ronea knew that was irrational thinking. Anxiety and panic attacks didn’t follow a set schedule. He rocked the still trembling boy.  
  
“Papi isn’t upset about not having the cookies anymore, but I’m sad for my baby boy not feeling well.”  
“S-sorry, Papi.”  
“Hey, it’s not your fault. Food is overwhelming to you, Papi knows that, and both Daddy and Papi know that it’s best to lock the pantry for that very reason, so that if the anxiety takes over, it gets a little more difficult for it to hurt you.”  
“J-j-uice i-is greedy…”  
  
Ronea sighed in the crook of his boy’s neck.  
  
“Who told my little love such nasty lies?”  
“They did.”  
“And what did _they_ say to Papi’s sweet boy?”  
“G-greedy Juan Carlos… Ung-grateful an’… an’ i-i-insol-lent b-boy…”  
“They said that because Juan Carlos wanted to eat what others had?”  
  
A small sniffle was answer enough and Ronea rocked him again.  
  
“Some people should never be allowed to raise kids, my love. Now, Papi’s dad hasn’t always been nice, neither was Daddy’s old man, but they’d both rather starve themselves than denying their sons nourishment, you understand? And had they tried to deprive us of food, our moms would’ve slit their throats and made sure no one found their bodies. Starving a child is one of the worst things you can do, Juice. Think about it, baby boy, even the most hideous people on death row have the right to nutritious food served at regular times in healthy portions. Every human being on this Earth needs food and to willfully deprive someone nourishment, especially a child, is just plain cruelty. There’s no way in hell they had any right to do that to you.”  
  
He was talking a little fast, because the subject made him upset and Juice needed calm now, not more stress. Ronea stroke his back, just kept petting him and then Filip entered the livingroom with a bottle.  
  
“Made some green mint tee.”  
  
Ronea smiled at him and gratefully took the bottle.  
  
“Thanks, baby. Come, Juicy, Daddy’s made a bottle for your tummy. Wanna sit in Papi’s lap?”  
  
Juice slowly and carefully managed to rearrange his position and leaned back on Ronea’s arm, accepting to be fed. Filip had also warmed up a wheat pillow to put on the boy’s poor tummy and he took Juice’s feet in his lap, tucking a blanket around them and grabbed a book. He put his reading glasses on and cleared his throat.  
  
“Chapter one: The River Bank. The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his li’l home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders an’ steps an' chairs, with a brush an’ a pail o’ whitewash; till he had dust in his throat an’ eyes, an’ splashes o’ whitewash all over his black fur, an’ an aching back an’ weary arms.”  
  
_The Wind in the Willows_. Ronea smiled. The old classic had been a part of both Ronea’s and Filip’s childhoods and it never grew out-dated. They’d finished _The Hobbit_ a while ago and this was a very good one to continue with. The adventures of the Mole and the Water Rat, of Mr. Badger and Toad were lovely no matter how old you were and read with his husband’s voice only made them better. Juice slowly sucked on the bottle, listening with closed eyes, and Ronea started to feel like the night would end better than it had begun.


	79. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good night and good morning, although it's not a very good morning for Papi...

He didn’t get a spanking or a scolding. He wasn’t sent to the naughty corner, told to clean up his mess or even lectured about what he’d done. Instead he got a warm bath, medicine for his stomach, warm tea and cuddles. Papi wasn’t angry with him, neither was Daddy, and most importantly: they were calm. Juice’s panic didn’t rule over them, which was a very comforting feeling.  
  
Daddy had read to him for a while and when Juice felt his eyes drooping again, Papi put him in the sling and started walking around with a blanket tucked around his back. The fire was cracking, so were Papi’s footsteps on the old floorboards and he sang softly.  
  
“Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way. Awaken from a quiet sleep, hear the whispering of the wind. Awaken as the silence grows, in a solitude of the night… Darkness spreads throughout the land and your weary eyes open silently. Sunsets have forsaken all, the most far off horizons… Nightmares come when shadows grow, eyes close and heartbeats slow. Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way. And you can always be strong, lift your voice with the first light of dawn… Dawn's just a heartbeat away… Hope's just a sunrise away…”  
  
He’d heard the song before, but couldn’t place it. Not that it mattered, Papi sang it to him and it was the most soothing thing. He kept singing in his low voice and Juice barely noticed that Daddy put the lights and fire out and they were leaving the room together. Papi’s humming didn’t stop, it carried him to bed as much as the man himself did, following him all the way to the brink of sleep and gently and safely brought him over.  
  
Once or twice during the night, his sleep was a little restless, but never enough to have him wake up completely. He was safe between his Daddies’ warm bodies, their arms tucked around him and he woke up well-rested despite his still sore tummy. Papi, who usually was the first to raise, still slept like a rock and Juice nudged Daddy carefully.  
  
“Daddy? Daddy…?”  
“Mhm…”  
“S’almost seven thirty…”  
“Uh-huh…”  
“Papi’s still asleep, Daddy.”  
  
That made Daddy open his eyes and he stretched out to rub Papi’s shoulder.  
  
“Lovey? Ye awake?”  
  
Not even a sound and Daddy sat up, patting Papi’s arm.  
  
“Hey? Ronea? Ye okay, darlin’?”  
“Yeah… Just… “  
  
Well, at least Papi answered now but he sounded awfully quiet and tired. Juice instinctively put a hand on his forehead.  
  
“Papi, you’re warm. Daddy, Papi’s ill.”  
“Aye, I think he is. Stay here, kiddo, while I get the thermomether.”  
  
Papi didn’t move and Juice stroke his hair.  
  
“Juice’s gonna take care of you, Papi. Don’t worry.”  
  
The smallest smile was curving the man’s mouth.  
  
“I’ll be fine, baby boy, especially when I have both my boys looking after me.”  
  
Daddy came back with the thermomether, not the rectal one, Juice noticed, but an oral. Juice was glad for it, because it just didn’t seem right to use the other on Papi. Daddy put it in Papi’s mouth and gave him a kiss on the forehead.  
  
“Ye’re burning, lovey… Ye never said ye felt poorly last night.”  
“Because I didn’t, Filip. God damnit, I have so much to do…”  
“The only thing ye’ll be doing today, is staying in bed, Mr. Telford-Tully. I’ll take care o’ Juice.”  
  
That, for some reason, made Juice just slightly annoyed and he kissed Papi’s forehead too.  
  
“And Juice will take care of _you_ , Papi. Gonna be an extra good boy today.”  
  
Papi smiled, because he had to keep his mouth closed now and when the thermomether beeped, it clearly showed fever. Daddy tucked the duvet a bit more around Papi.  
  
“I’ll just change Juice an’ call work, lovey, an’ then I’ll come up with a tray for… Ronea? Darlin’, wha’s…?”  
“Papi, are you hurt?”  
  
Papi was crying. Big, strong Papi cried into the pillow, but instead of panicking, Juice just curled into him. Daddy held him from behind, with a hand slowly rubbing circles on Papi’s chest.  
  
“My lil’ homemaker… Darlin’, ye’ve overworked yerself, ye’re exhausted… Why dinnae ye tell me?”  
“Didn’t feel anything… Honestly, Filip, I didn’t… didn’t try to hide anything…”  
“Hey, I’m not scolding ye, lovey, an’ I dinnae think ye were hiding anything on purpose. Ye dinnae feel anything yesterday?”  
“No. I… I felt… normal, I think…”  
“Papi’s sad?”  
“Just tired, baby boy.”  
  
Papi made a small smile through the tears and Daddy kissed him again.  
  
“T’is not yer fault if ye dinnae catch any signs, Ronea. I just wish I’d known ye were so tired…”  
“Believe me, I wish _I’d_ known… Christ… Well, I’ve planned on smoothies and roasted nuts for breakfast, it’s the usual package in the freezer…”  
“I’ll handle it, lovey.”  
“They can… be without you at work?”  
“Ye know tha’s not for ye to worry about, Ronea. I order ye to rest now an’ _not_ think about my work or the household or anything like it, tha’ clear?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Good. Come, Juicy, let’s get ye changed an’ start breakfast.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song Papi's singing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jRLwdNyX3w


	80. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy does a very unprepared change in the routine, so how will his boy react...? And I also want to point out that although I'd never dream of looking down on any kink people have as long as it's lived out with consensual people of legal age and doesn't hurt anyone in a bad/longterm way, the diaper and bowel movement stuff in this series is only there for the health part of the story. It's not about humiliation kink either, but simply something Juice needs help with.
> 
> I've worked with health care, among other things with dementia and severly ill elderly people for many years, so it's just completely normal for me to take treat thing with diapers and bowel movement check-ups as a given part of care when needed. I mean, after a few years, you can easily go from lunch break having had chocolate pudding for dessert and then straight to helping someone with laxatives and take samples from something that looks exactly like your dessert but smells like something had died without any problems :p 
> 
> I mean, when great grannies say that as long as their night sleep and tummy function the way they should, they're grateful, they're NOT kidding ;)

He was angry with himself for not picking up the signs, but Filip also knew it was unreasonable to read his husband perfectly, especially since the man himself hadn’t even felt low until this morning and they’d both been so occupied with their lil’ one. It didn’t make things any easier, that Juice had had this huge binge episode, but surprisingly enough, the lad seemed to take his Papi’s sudden bedrest with composure.  
  
At first, the lack of anxiety from the change was a little confusing to Filip, but his young lover was a curious little person sometimes and as Juice had been washed, had a clean nappy and clothes on and the two of them sat down with the smoothies and cups with roasted nuts, the lad appeared quite calm. He took his meds and sat properly on the chair, ate with good manners and didn’t even squirm. They’d started eating before Filip’s coffee was done and when the brewer stopped, Juice immediately rose from the table.  
  
Filip was so surprised by that, he couldn’t even remember the last time his lad had left the table without permission and he was just about to scold him for it, when he saw him pour the coffee in a cup. Damn, sometimes he was just a thick muppet. Filip internally shook his head at himself and smiled at his sweet lad who just wanted to do what his Papi usually did.  
  
“Here’s your coffee, Daddy.”  
“Thank ye so much, Juicy. Ye wannae sit in Daddy’s lap?”  
“Please, Daddy. Daddy?”  
“Aye, lovey?”  
“Papi’s gonna be okay?”  
“Absolutely, kiddo. He’s just exhausted and needs to rest, but there’s nothing serious, I promise ye.”  
“Kay, Daddy.”  
  
It was a little difficult to eat with Juice on his lap, but the lad clearly needed it and honestly, Filip did too. He almost mindlessly started to pet Juice’s belly.  
  
“How’s yer tummy this morning, lil’ one?”  
“S’okay, Daddy. Jus’ a little sore.”  
  
The nappy hadn’t at all been as full as Filip had hoped, barely smeared, and he’d added some more aloe juice and also two tablespoons with castor oil to Juice’s morning meds, which the lad hadn’t appreciated in the least, but the naughty corner wasn’t tempting either and after just a little initial whining, Juice had obediently swallowed it all with a grimaze. Filip petted him again and there was a little murmering from the inside now.  
  
He put his coffee down and kissed Juice’s neck.  
  
“Daddy has a suggestion, lil’ one.”  
“What, Daddy?”  
“Since yer tummy is pretty full now, how ‘bout Daddy takes his Juicyboy to sit on the potty?”  
“There’s… a potty, Daddy?”  
  
The lad didn’t sound too anxious, merely surprised and Filip sent a silent prayer of thanks for that.  
  
“Aye, but me an’ Papi decided on waiting with tha’ for a while, so we dinnae wannae stress ye by mentioning it. But, after yesterday, I jus’ think tha’ maybe yer nappy wont be enough before lunch.”  
“H-how does the… potty looks like, Daddy?”  
  
Praised be the Holy Mother, no panic. Filip smiled and put his coffee down.  
  
“Ye wannae go an’ have a look righ’ now?”  
“S’not… good manners leaving the table ‘for you’re finished, Daddy. Papi says so.”  
  
Filip chuckled.  
  
“I know, but Papi is a practical man who always makes exceptions for emergencies. Have I told ye ‘bout tha’ time when he almost burned his cheesy potatos ‘cause he’d discovered a cat in the garden an’ completely forgot ‘bout dinner?”  
  
Juice giggled at that.  
  
“Cats count as emergency, Daddy?”  
“Yer Papi absolutely _loves_ all things cuddly, lil’ one. Come, I’ll show ye the potty.”  
  
The lad followed him to the bathroom where the adult sized potty in blue plastic stood on a stool. It was very steady and designed for actual adults. Juice looked at it with a little suspicion, but not resistance. Filip put an arm around him.  
  
“We’re taking everything in steps, Juice. Nappies before potty an’ potty before toilet. Yer _mind’s_ not big enough for adult toilet yet an’ ye’re gonnae wear nappies fulltime for a while longer.”  
“O-okay, Daddy.”  
“Ye wannae try the potty today, kiddo?”  
“Daddy helps Juicy?”  
  
Kid’s language. The lad was getting worried and Filip held him close in a soothing hug.  
  
“Of course, my little darlin’. Lets start by getting yer pants an’ nappy down, alright? Daddy’s helping all the way.”  
“Okay, Daddy.”  
“Good boy.”  
  
After lighting some fragrant candles, Filip helped Juice turn around and unbottoned his pants. The nappy came next and it was already wet and a little smeared, so this was a good time to give this a try. Juice carefully sat down on the potty but although he had no problems with the balance now, he was rubbing his tummy. Filip took the normal stool and put it behind the potty, sat down and laid his hands around his middle. Juice hadn’t been to an adult toilet for a very long time and he’d not been prepared for this like with other things, so he’d most likely need to be held.  
  
“Ye’re okay, kiddo?”  
“Th-think so, Daddy.”  
“S’it helping if I’m rubbing yer tummy like before?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Don’ push yerself, jus’ relax, okay? If nothing’s happening, don’ force it. Ti’s very important tha’ we’re _really_ nice to yer tummy.”  
  
Talking helped the lad relax, so did petting his sore belly. Filip kept massaging it very gently, mostly just keeping it warm with the slight friction from his palm, and while petting, he spoke about neutral, light-minded stuff, like their garden and all the different animals who had happened to visit them throughout the years.  
  
It was all very improvised, but it kept Juice a lot more relaxed than Filip had anticipated and after a little while, the tension in his tummy went down a notch and he started to relieve himself. Filip didn’t comment on it, or showed that he’d noticed it at all, he just babbled on about birds and squirrels, the mice nest in the laundry that had made Ronea squeal like an “uppity class lady” and jump up on the washing machine, refusing to go down until Filip had caught the mice and found exactly where their entrance was so he could brick it.  
  
Juice was really laughing at that, his tummy less and less cramped under Filip’s palm, as he let go and allowed himself to let nature take it’s course. The potty was big, which was good, since there was a lot that had been stuck in the poor lad’s tummy since the binge. Throwing up had not taken much and this was way healthier. He peed as well and Filip could barely contain his happiness for the fact that Juice wasn’t tense at all now.  
  
Filip was very careful not to rush the procedure and neither asked questions nor gave praise. He figured it would be better if Juice could just do this on his own terms as much as possible and not connect the potty with being “good”, since this wasn’t about that, but health. When he’d been sitting for a while without anything more happening, he started to squirm a little and Filip kissed his neck.  
  
“How are ye feeling in yer tummy now, kiddo?”  
“Better, Daddy. S’not as hard anymore.”  
“Tha’s really good. How does yer butt feel then?”  
“A… a little sore, Daddy, but… not _very_ sore.”  
“Okay. Ye need to sit a lil’ while longer?”  
“No, thank you, Daddy. Juice is done now. Juice wants his diaper.”  
“An’ Daddy has one clean an’ ready for ye, laddie. Ye wannae stand while a wash ye or lay down on the mat?”  
“The mat, please, Daddy.”  
  
It was about to be too much for the lad and Filip helped him to lay down. The potty really was full and the content looked healthy. Filip quickly flushed it down, rinsed the potty and washed his hands. Then he went out to the kitchen and grabbed Juice’s pacifier and Ronea’s wornout shirt the lad had clutched onto the night before and dragged down to breakfast. Juice took it with clear eager.  
  
Filip used warm water with baby oil on a soft cloth as he washed Juice. The lad’s hole didn’t look red, but it had been strained now, so Filip took his time to properly dry and powder him before giving the usual shots of aloe. The chastity device had been left out this morning, but now Filip put it on again, which Juice liked about as much as his meds.  
  
“Don’ need that, Daddy. Juice’s not a big boy, he doesn’t need it.”  
“Well, Daddy says you do, so ye’re wearing it, Juicy.”  
“Cause Daddy says so…”  
“Tha’s right, lil’ one. Why don’ ye take yer paficier, lovey?”  
  
Juice saw his beloved soothing tool and immediately put it in his mouth while clutching his Papi’s shirt. Filip finished with the chastity and put a clean nappy and the pants back on. He wanted to praise his boy, tell him how proud he was, but Juice sucked hard on his pacifier and obviously needed firmness more than praise right now.  
  
Filip cleaned up in the bathroom, washed his hands and then simply helped Juice up and walked back to the kitchen and the interrupted breakfast. He sat down and Juice followed suit, planting himself like before on his lap, took the pacifier out and calmly returned to the bottle with his smoothie. Easy as if last nights binging hadn’t left any anxiety or pain at all.


	81. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're going through changes (ooh), we're going through changes (ah, ah, ah)..."

The little ray of sunshine who’d woke him up with a smoothie and coffee, truly beamed with an excitement Ronea hadn’t seen in a very long time. His baby boy sat down in bed, knees as usual tucked to his chest but there was little anxiety and more anticipation in the posture.   
  
“Papi, I did it! Juice _did_ it!”   
“And it tastes great, baby boy.”  
  
The boy scrunched his nose in the most adorable way and laughed.  
  
“No, Papi, not the breakfast! Juice did it. Juice used the _potty_!”  
“You did?”  
“Juice did! And-and-and it barely hurt at _all_ , Papi!”  
  
Ronea was honestly more than a little surprised since they had decided to wait with that and he put the mug of coffee on the nightstand to hug his boy.   
  
“You couldn’t have given Papi better news for breakfast, baby boy.”  
“Are you ill, Papi?”  
“No. No, not at all, love. Papi’s just tired today, that’s all. But look at you, sweetheart… That’s a smile I’ve missed.”  
  
Juice rubbed his tummy.  
  
“Almost doesn’t hurt now, Papi.”  
  
Almost was as good as one could hope for now. The binge had been severe and so had the puking and most certainly the laxatives as well. Knowing that Filip had dealt so well with it, was a huge relief. Ronea was happy about it, but the weariness was still forcing him to bedrest.   
  
“How are ye feeling, lovey?”  
  
His husband had entered the bedroom too and looked a little tired, but a lot less tense than he’d been of late. He wore jeans and a simple t-shirt, his greyish hair slightly messy and the husky voice, as always, carried out that little vibe of protection. Ronea smiled and took a sip on his coffee.  
  
“Like a 150 ton beached whale. And before you put this on my list of transgressions, I didn’t say _Iook_ like one.”  
  
Filip chuckled.   
  
“Clever, darlin’. Happy to see both my boys smile today.”  
“Likewise, baby.”  
  
Smiling, yes, but Jesus Christ, he felt completely exhausted like he hadn’t gotten any sleep and it burned under his eyelids.   
  
“Sorry… I’m not…”  
  
Ronea was so worried about upsetting his husband and baby boy, that he didn’t notice how they both just hugged him.   
  
“Shh, baby, s’alright. C’mere, darlin’.”  
“Don’t cry, Papi. Juice and Daddy’s gonna help, right Daddy?”  
“Of course, lil’ one.”  
“Juice can do the dishes, Papi.”  
  
The boy was so serious, but Ronea couldn’t help but laughing a little and he kissed Juice’s cheek.  
  
“Baby boy, what ever would I do without you? If you ask Daddy, maybe you can help out a _little_.”  
“If ye don’ strain yerself, Juicy.”  
“Wont, Daddy. Juice _promises_.”  
  
He seemed far less thrown off his feet with this change in routine and looked truly eager to get going. Filip smiled at him.  
  
“Go on then, Juicyboy. Ye can clear the table an’ put the dishes in the sink.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
“Don’t _rush_.”  
  
Juice had already been ready to run downstairs and Ronea had to hide his smile behind the coffee cup when the boy stopped almost in a heartbeat and walked properly down the stairs. Filip looked at him and smiled too.  
  
“Why’s there never a normal bloody pace to changes?”  
  
That had Ronea laugh – and cry – again. He put down the cup on the nightstand and leaned into his husband’s arms. Filip rubbed his back and held him firmly.   
  
“I know, baby, I know… We’re going through changes…”  
  
He hummed the line and Ronea let out another sobbing laughter.   
  
“Aint that true… I’m not sad, Filip, just… My baby boy doesn’t need me like before and it happens so fast…”  
“Lovey, of _course_ he needs ye. I agree tha’ t’is a bit suspicious tha’ he shifted so fast jus’ from last night, but ye know, I recall ye changing fast sometimes as well an’ ye still needed me, right? Have said it before an’ I’ll say it again: ye’re the strongest person I know, Ronea, an’ I know ye need for me to step in more, both o’ ye do.”  
  
Ronea sniffled.  
  
“I know, it’s just so strange not having him… cling onto me. And believe me, I know that’s a good thing and my back and knees are fucking cheering, but… it feels like he’s just flicked a switch and I wasn’t prepared… It’s not about who made him comfortable trying the potty, I’m not jealous, Filip, just… God, this is so weird…”  
“I’m glad ye dinnae call it stupid, lovey, ‘cause t’is perfectly natural tha’ ye’re not just shrugging this off.”  
  
His husband’s embrace was his safe place in the world since more than twenty years and it still was. Learning how to be weak in order to heal. To heal in order to get strong. Getting strong enough to be the submissive man he truly was, never could’ve happened with another human being. It was this working class, cut up biker from Glasgow who’d seen something more than a sassy façade or domestic violence victim in him from the very beginning.   
  
Ronea still cried in his arms, but mostly out of relief now. He recalled how long time it had taken for him not to hide away from these arms, the utter terror that had sometimes rose inside him just because of this absolute need for a strong, gentle man’s protection and guidance. His obedience was a daily confession of how lost he was without his husband, as was Filip’s gentle control and care the other man’s similar proof of how the opposite was true for him.   
  
Filip hadn’t been a willing top at first. A natural, yes, but that was a whole other thing. He’d feared having control over another man, especially one who’d been abused. The reason they rarely had to talk about their past or even their struggles that much these days, wasn’t due to some magical gut sense or thought connection, but the result of an almost baffling work with emotions they’d been too young to even question the need for when it started. There had been times when both of them just felt like they’d had enough of each other, but years of stubborn resistance and perhaps a little bit of incapability to realise what most people considered too much to be worth the effort, had shaped them into this solid union that allowed Ronea to let his guard down completely.  
  
He sighed, slowly feeling a little better.  
  
“Promise me you’ll tell me if you can’t handle things, Filip. I mean, with this.”  
  
It wasn’t a questioning of his husband’s strenght or role as a top, just a momentarily need for reassurance and the man understood that.  
  
“I promise, lovey.”  
  
No further explanation needed, they could save their words. Filip then took his face between his hands and gave Ronea a slow, deep kiss. His eyes were so kind, nothing had changed with that in all these years.   
  
“Rest now, Ronea. I’ve got this.”


	82. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy starts to improvise... TW: read the tags.

Everything in Juice’s life circled around the centre of his universe that now solely consisted of Papi and Daddy, their home and with the rules and routines forming the framework. It was extremely comforting to know about his Daddies’ schedules as well, being able to wake up in the morning and knowing how the day was mostly structured and rarely changed. Papi getting sad and too tired to leave bed wasn’t part of that structure, but the rational part of Juice’s mind seemed to function a little better today.  
  
Putting the dishes in the sink and wiping the table were things he’d not done in a long time and it felt good to help out. He knew Papi’s household schedule by now and that it was shopping and cleaning day, but he wasn’t sure how much Papi would allow him to help out with. Daddy had strict limitations on what he could and couldn’t do if Papi was ill or otherwise unable to do his usual chores and Juice wondered if Papi would be more irked by the state of the kitchen floor or having his boy sweep it.  
  
Papi had cried this morning and Juice didn’t want to upset him again, but still… Crumbles and dust and even dirt from the garden on Papi’s floors _over the weekend_ was almost like cancelling the concept of weekends and just go straight to Monday.  
  
Daddy now entered the kitchen, smiling.  
  
“Juicyboy? Wha’ are ye thinking of, I can almost see smoke?”  
“Papi okay, Daddy?”  
“He’s okay, darlin’ an’ thank ye for taking the dishes. Now wha’s on yer mind?”  
  
Juice bit his lip.  
  
“The floor, Daddy. Floor’s messy.”  
“Ye wannae sweep it?”  
  
Daddy looked almost teasing now and moved over to pull Juice close.  
  
“Wondering how to trip around Papi’s domains without waking up mama bear, huh?”  
“S’ crumbles on the floor, Daddy…”  
  
Crumbles _he_ had left when he…  
  
“Don’t go there, Juice. No guilt for wha’ happened last night, lil’ one. S’ _not_ yer fault an’ no one’s died from some crumbles on the floor.”  
“Took all the cookies…”  
“Come, lil’ one. Daddy’s got an idea.”  
  
Daddy took his hand and walked over to the pantry. He opened the door completely and then sat down on the floor in front of it, patting his knees.  
  
“Sit in my lap, laddie.”  
  
Juice gladly obeyed and curled up in Daddy’s lap. It was safer there with all the food in front of him. The man put his arms around him and rested his chin on his shoulder. Holding him secure from the threatening pantry.  
  
“Papi’s keeping immaculate order in here, laddie. Everything has it’s place.”  
“Yes, Daddy. I… I messed it up… Papi got exhausted.”  
“I dinnae say tha’ to lecture ye, Juicy. Ye think Papi is on bedrest because ye had a binge?”  
  
Juice shrugged.  
  
“He… takes care of me, Daddy. A lot. An’ it’s difficult for him.”  
“Aye, an’ he does so willingly an’ gladly. Sometimes it’s difficult, tha’s true, because we always wishes tha’ our loved ones felt good all the time. A long, long time ago, Daddy had to go through every inch o’ his an’ Papi’s apartment before work, to make sure all sharp objects were locked away.”  
“Every day, Daddy?”  
“Every day, lad. Razors, knives, scissors, nail files. When Papi was at his lowest, Daddy even had to take his lighters an’ wallet, so he couldna burn himself. Bought’im nicotine gums instead an’ he hated it. But ye see, Papi couldna stop from hurting himself, lovey, an’ I had to do everything I could to help.”  
“Poor Papi… Poor both of you.”  
“Aye, t’was a difficult time for both o’ us, an’ I was so angry, lovey. Not at Papi, not when I finally understood tha’ he suffered from PTSD an’ knew tha’ he was jus’ too tired an’ hurt from having tried to handle it for so long all by himself, to stop himself. Some days when I came from work, he’d slammed his arms into the furniture ‘cause the anxiety was so severe.”  
  
Daddy sighed.  
  
“I used to rub cream for bruises onto his arms an’ then wrap them in swathes an’ put arm warmers over so it. ‘Course, it dinnae help if he slammed’em again an’ it certainly dinnae solve the problem, but it was important for me to… to give’im something to remind’im o’ how precious an’ beautiful an’ worthy o’ kindness _I_ knew he was. Dinnae cover’im up to hide the wounds, lovey, I jus’ wanted to be nice to the parts tha’ he’d hurt.”  
  
A little kiss onto his nape.  
  
“After a really bad day, Papi often felt very ashamed o’ himself. Scared too. Ye see, Daddy doesn’t know much ‘bout eating disorders, lovey, but I can see how food seems to be a problem for ye a lil’ bit like lighters, knives an’ other sharp objects once were for Papi. Ye remember the first time ye binged, Juicy?”  
  
He had to think. Those weren’t nice memories to dig into, but most of his memories were on the bad side anyway, so it wasn’t a new discomfort of any sort. Juice looked firmly at the shelf that used to be filled with Papi’s homebaked goods, but now was almost empty save for some crackers he’d not had time to force down. He closed his eyes, tried to not forget he was sitting with Daddy, while remembering other shelves and cupboards in flats and houses he’d once lived. Places that hadn’t been his, where he’d been a tolerated, sometimes unwelcomed guest. And, of course, his own apartment that for some reason never felt like home.  
  
“The first time… when I had a real one, I mean, not just a short moment to cram stuff in ‘cause I was hungry an’ knew I’d get caught, but when I was on my own… With my own food…”  
“When ye were living on yer own an’ had yer own money?”  
“Yeah… Don’t know why it started, really. I remember I’d bought like… pretty nice food. Not garbage or candy, and I’d stacked it all up in the pantry and fridge. Was just a small fridge, two shelves and no freezer, but it was _mine_.”  
  
He could almost see it before him and he swallowed.  
  
“I… When I’d filled them for the first time, I just… I kept going back to open them all the time, Daddy. Like I… you know, couldn’t really understand they were mine…”  
“An’ tha’ no one could lock the doors or keep it away from ye.”  
  
Juice nodded.  
  
“Yeah. Early evenings an’… An’ really late at night, like one or two in the morning… Those were the worst times. Didn’t seem to matter how much or healthy I’d eaten during the day. When I’d come home from work an’ was alone an’ started to, you know, think. Got better when I bought my bike. Went out on long rides instead. Just me and the road… S’why I thought I was over with them.”  
“An’ tha’ time when I came looking for ye at yer place, ye’d been too stressed an’ tired to risk going on a ride? An’ there’s a convenience store close with late opening hours…”  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Daddy kissed his crown and carefully had him lean back onto him a little more.  
  
“When ye’re binging, when ye’re in the midst o’ it, do ye know how it feels like? Can ye describe it?”  
“It’s… almost like a… shock on a feeding frenzy. Eating mindlessly, just… cramming it all in as fast as possible. I don’t really feel the taste, it’s… I stop thinking, Daddy. My mind is just... put on hold an’ all I know is that I need to hurry…”  
“Why does it feel like ye need to hurry?”  
“Cause… if I slow down, I’ll start thinking an’ then I’ll just feel worse… An’ also, before I’m interrupted.”  
“Ye’re thinking tha’ ye might get discovered?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
Daddy stroked his arms now, rubbing them warm and placed little kisses onto his hair.  
  
“S’alright, Juice, I know ye’re feeling very uncomfortable talking ‘bout this, but ye’re doing the right thing an’ nothing bad or dangerous will happen. Ye wont get punished or humiliated or pushed away, darlin’. Daddy an’ Papi love ye no matter what an’ _lots_ o’ people have different eating problems. Take a deep breath now… There we go… Try an’ relax, lovey. Wha’ does yer mind think will happen, if ye’re caught binging?”  
“Punished… I’ll get punished…”  
“Can Daddy ask ye how ye were punished when someone caught ye binging?”  
  
This was dangerous. He’d never talked about this in details before.  
  
“Belt… Lock me up, or… other things…”  
“Someone in the family would beat ye with a belt an’ lock ye up in some room?”  
“Yes…”  
  
He wasn’t sure if he actually talked, or just moved his lips. His mouth felt dry, lips numb and he was digging his nails into something, maybe Daddy’s hands.  
  
“Eat…”  
“Eat?”  
“…ukes…”  
“Eat what, lovey? Daddy dinnae hear ye.”  
“Pukes… Had to… eat my pukes…”  
  
His voice died off.


	83. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a rare glimpse of Filip with his friend Bobby.

When something hurt so much he could barely stand it, Filip Telford didn’t always talk to his husband, nor did he bottle it up or tried to get an outlet for it from a long, fast ride or something else. On some occasions, usually when deep down he just knew he needed a point of view that wasn’t his husband, Filip would call either Tig or Bobby. Or, early in his and Ronea’s relationship, when he’d not yet learned how to move around his man as well, Venus. This time, it fell on Bobby’s lot.  
  
The shop was busy as usual but Filip didn’t bother with feeling bad for dragging Bobby’s old ass over. Juice was utterly knackered after their talk and snoozed since an hour with Ronea so Filip and his friend were sitting in peace a quiet on the backporch, sipping on a way too early but much needed drink. Bobby’s mighty frame and bushy beard was welcome sight right now as he sat down heavily on the chair and made a little gesture.  
  
“That Dyna, that’s your boy’s?”  
“Aye.”  
“You didn’t tell me he was that good.”  
“Don’ recall telling anyone much at all.”  
“No one gives a shit, Chibs. About whom you and Ron share your bed with. He costumed that himself?”  
“The bed?”  
“Very funny. The little jewel in your garage.”  
  
Filip nodded, realising he felt good hearing someone else praise his boy.  
  
“Aye, he’s pretty talanted... He’s a tech pro, though. Computors and stuff, I don’ understand shite o’ his work.”  
“I promise not to tell Kip. He’s ready to blow up the office computor’s hard drive and would probably take your boy hostage if he knew.”  
  
It was a joke and Flip snickered at it, but inside he was actually cringing. Bobby of course meant no harm. He had absolutely no idea how skittish Juice was or how horrible his childhood had been and even if Filip was very much aware of that, the joke fell flat to him. Bobby gave him a funny look.  
  
“Jesus, Chibs, it was a joke. How bad are things, really?”  
  
Filip made a grimaze and took a long sip from his glass.  
  
“Remember tha’ time ye an’ Tig wen’ with me to pick up Ronea an’ his dead cat?”  
“ _That_ bad?”  
“Worse. Aint giving ye any details, brother, but lets jus’ say tha’ too many people did some really nasty shite to’im for far too long.”  
  
Bobby shook his head.  
  
“Man, I’m sorry, Chibs. We thought it was just some fun on the side for you two, like that twink from Redding.”  
“Ye mean Derek Dollface?”  
  
Now Filip had to laugh.  
  
“Mary, Mother o’ Christ, I haven’t thought ‘bout tha’ lil’ bastard in years!”  
  
Bobby grinned.  
  
“Ronea got pretty annoyed with him, if I remember correctly.”  
“Annoyed? He was practically ready to chop’im up for beef stew an’ serve his da. Never heard a human being talk so much without being on something. Jesus… I’d almost blanked tha’ one out.”  
“How long were you hooking up?”  
“A month, month an’ a half. Tops.”  
“And how long’s it been with this boy?”  
“Bout… ten months.”  
  
His friend gave a long, low whistle.  
  
“Damn… you sure as hell know how to keep a secret.”  
“We’re not trying to hide him, or anything, Bobby. We’re not ashamed.”  
“Good, ‘cause you shouldn’t. Any chance we’ll meet him?”  
“I hope so, but he cannae even leave the house yet, so tha’s something for… well, further on. He’s a skittish boy, to say the least.”  
“Sounds like Ronea twenty years ago. You don’t happen to have a pic?”  
  
Filip hummed. He hadn’t planned on showing Bobby, but the man would not spread the word and he hauled up his phone, flipping through a folder of images, one of them being a photo of his lad, all serious with those anxious eyes Filip once hadn’t been able to interpret. In a way, he didn’t want to show this photo, not because he was ashamed or wanted to keep Juice a secret, but for the vulnerability it showed. Bobby rose his eyebrows.  
  
“Seriously, Chibs. How old is he?”  
  
Filip huffed.  
  
“A lot older than some o’ the lasses I’ve found sleeping on ye, old man. He’s thirty.”  
  
Bobby put his glasses on and inspected the screen closer.  
  
“Pretty looking boy, I have to admit, but too much dick and not enough tits for my taste. Kid aint got no family or friends around?”  
“He’s having a co-worker he sees outside work sometimes an’ a couple o’ guys he shares a garage with, but it’s no club an’ from wha’ I understand, t’is more a case o’ coincidence if ye have company when ye’re there.”  
“Sounds lonely.”  
“Aye…”  
“So… you’ve been taking care of him for weeks now?”  
“Mainly Ronea has. Tha’s why he’s a wee bit knackered now.”  
“How long’s your boy staying?”  
  
Filip put the phone back in his pocket and rubbed a hand over his face, sighing.  
  
“Until he’s fit to live on his own, an’ by then we hope he’ll decide to move in for real.”  
  
If he’d expected to be questioned, Bobby would’ve surprised him. His giant friend gave a rough pat on his shoulder and snickered.  
  
“Well, we all know that you were shitty relationship material before Ronea got you straightened out, so if he’s on board with the kid, you’ll hear no complaints from me.”  
“Arsehole.”  
“You’re welcome, pres.”


	84. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi in deep thoughts while his baby boy is snoozing and Filip is downstairs with Bobby.

He wasn’t really asleep, just resting, but Juice was snoozing like he was paid by the hour and Ronea smiled in his hair. The boy’s illness and anxiety sure as hell was the main reason Ronea was on bedrest, but Juice’s sleeping presence was more than making up for that part. The homemaker was still a little new to this. Not snuggling with his boy, of course, but the feelings of protection it rose within him.  
  
Ronea had always been a bit baffled with Filip when it came to this. How looking after someone felt a lot more like a _need_ than a chore or nuisance to his husband. Caring for Filip had almost always been easy, more often than not a pure joy and in no way comparable to handling Ronea’s demons. The man was completely hopeless when it came to creating a home or dealing with money, but unlike many men who sucked royally on those areas, Filip was more than happy to allow his partner to make those decisions for him, leaving him free to focus on what he did best: handling a business and relationship. Ronea had honestly never felt trapped or restricted in his role as a homemaker. Sure, he was bored and irritated at it sometimes, but no more than Filip was with motor parts and whiny customers. When they had dinner at night, they always spoke about their day and Filip was just as interested in hearing about the garden, house repairs, baking or whatever Ronea had spent his day doing, as talking about his work.  
  
They’d not really planned on living like this, it had just come naturally to them, or rather slowly sinking in, one piece at the time. And sure, Ronea did feel just as important to their wellfare as Filip, even if he didn’t have an income in that sense, but with Juice, Ronea for the first time had the role of top, caregiver and protector at once. Just as with his path to becoming a fulltime homemaker, it hadn’t been a conscious decision or desire, but a slumbering desire that had rose with time, long before meeting Juice.  
  
Ronea couldn’t say his childhood had been bad, in fact, comparing to Filip’s, not to mention Juice’s, it had been quite nice. Whenever dad had had his bad moments, letting his sulky mood out on anyone in his path, mom had always been there to soften it. Not with a subdued cowing, but with her own brand of strenght. No one, especially no man, could make Elizabeth Tully feel less about herself. She was the one who’d taught Ronea to cook and bake, who’d shown him how to run a household and take pride in it. She’d made sure he’d discovered books and when dad had spanked him hard for refusing to finish the baseball training session (because the seven year old Ronea fucking hated running around for a stupid ball with screaming men and rough boys) and telling him what an ungrateful, whiny little pussy he was, mom had first kicked Fred out of the house for the night and then rocked her crying boy in her arms.  
  
Mom’s arms had always been so strong, something Ronea had always loved. They were soft too, yes, but whenever she hugged or held him, it seemed like she could’ve rocked him with one arm while punching the lights out of dad with the other. She’d taught him how to do laundry – in secret so that dad wouldn’t get mad – and on Fridays before dad came home from work, Ronea and mom would share a huge bar of chocolate together while mom was scrubbing the kitchen floor and Ronea read on the table.  
  
He’d sit crosslegged on their steady kitchen table and sink into the stories of Carroll, Tolkien, Roald Dahl and David Eddings. Fantasy helped him through rough times at school and when mom got cancer and later died, Frodo, Polgara and magical creatures had been a great comfort when dad wasn’t. Dad wasn’t cruel or willfully uncaring, Ronea just figured the man simply couldn’t deal with emotions, neither his own nor others. A couple of times shortly after mom’s death, Ronea had cried at night and dad had come into his room to comfort him. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing either and yes, Fred Tully generally sucked with emotions and still hadn’t accepted his son being gay, but for once there was something that connected them more than the things separating them and it was just sad and depressing that it was death.  
  
Holding Juice like this was very much a trace from mom’s way of comforting Ronea as a child. She’d always been so affectionate yet never smothering. She wasn’t without faults, of course not, but Ronea could honestly say that the vaste majority of his memories of her, were truly nice ones. He’d not talked to dad for a long time now, the old man rarely reached out himself and their contact was built on the unspoken sense of duty towards shared name and blood, more than any genuine feelings. Ronea was certain that Fred loved him and he sure as hell loved him in return, but Fred was a child of his time and had never really been able to get over that his only son not only deprived him of grandkids, but liked it up the ass as well. Unfortunately, less than gay friendly churches had been more tempting as support for him, than his son and son-in-law.  
  
Filip was pretty much the opposite of Fred, not to mention Aaron. The only thing connecting the three men except from the fact that they were all male, was that they all wanted to be in charge, but the difference in how they acted that need out, couldn’t be any bigger. Filip didn’t remind of either Fred nor Aaron in the slightest – or Elizabeth for that matter and Ronea was glad for it. They’d both worked hard on not carrying their different shitty pasts into their relationship and all that work had paid off. They’d allowed themselves to be free and explore themselves together without shame for many years now and Ronea was convinced that was probably the primar reason why it had worked out so well for this long.  
  
Juice made a little sound in his sleep and Ronea rubbed his back.  
  
“Papi’s here, baby boy…”  
  
The boy stilled almost immediately, just nudged in closer for Ronea to snuggle him. Although Juice or Filip hadn’t told him about what they’d talked about this morning after breakfast, Ronea realised it had been a rough moment neither of them had expected and by the look of his husband’s almost grey face as he tucked Juice down for a nap with Papi, the boy had revealed yet another awful piece of his past. Ronea was very grateful for Bobby’s inpromptu visit. Filip needed to see his buddies more often.  
  
Years ago, Filip had been worried that Ronea’s life as homemaker made him isolated, but as with the spanking, it had taken time to discover where Aaron’s abuse ended and Ronea’s quite introverted personality began. It wasn’t that he didn’t like company or had social anxiety, far from it. He’d just slowly realised how exhausted social gatherings made him in general. Although the house was his work, Ronea had worked out his routine and habits almost to perfection over the years and learned to literally and figuratively close the doors to working areas every afternoon around three. For two or three hours, depending on which day it was, he had time for himself to workout, read, watch series, have a coffee with Venus or take a stroll downtown.  
  
Ronea had loved his alone but in no way lonely afternoons for twenty years and he still did. Not having to spend so much energy on socializing or keeping up in a busy, crowded workplace, had honestly done magic for his general health. His mom had loved that part of her housewife life too and one of Ronea’s most treasured memories of her, was as she was resting her feet on the kitchen table on Saturday afternoon, a cup of coffee in her hand while the mopped floor dried, sharing a huge bar of chocolate with him as they both read their respective books in sweet, peaceful silence.  
  
It was a sweet memory that usually made Ronea happy, at least since the worst grief was over, but tonight his mind wandered off from the soap and coffee smelling kitchen, the chocolate bar and books and over to that first Saturday when no one was mopping the kitchen floor and the house was silent and numb. A place where a man and teenager were both crippled from grief, still in shock and the huge chocolate bar remained unopened on the shelf in the cupboard. The pain had been so overwhelming, Ronea could only remember how he’d shut down, pretended like mom would come with her bucket and mop, asking him to put the coffee on. The reality had simply hurt more than the wake-up from imagination.  
  
Trying to imagine how Juice’s pain had been and still felt like, was impossible, Ronea thought as he cuddled his baby boy. Loosing mom was probably the single most painful thing Ronea had been through, even compared to what Aaron had done to him. But Juice’s life had been a long row of repeated losses and so much hurt it was just baffling how he’d survived this far without turning completely cynical. He was such a sensitive boy with an open heart for others and a head that, when it wasn’t busy putting himself down, was far from stupid. He was a genuinly kind-hearted person and one of those countless abuse victims who didn’t fall in the category of repeating the abuse on others, escaping to drugs or keeping everyone on an arm’s length. Always able to act normal and functioning enough for the society to never see the damage.  
  
As so often with unwanted kids, people rarely noticed their pain until it somehow affected others too. Those who should’ve been protecting, loving and respecting Juice, had beaten, starved and threatened him instead. They’d made him feel worthless, burnt his few possessions, forcefully shaved his hair and isolated him. Forced him to eat his own vomits… And then it was the man who wasn’t a foster parent but a stranger drugging, raping and leaving him bleeding on the ground.  
  
Ronea sighed. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that his little baby’s problems could be solved by love and care alone. If Juice was ever going to be as free as he could from these memories, living his life where his pain would still be there, only small enough to be handled in a healthy way, leaving the majority of his life be and letting him _live_ rather than just survive, talking to Ronea and Filip wouldn’t be enough.  
  
Their sweet lover needed to learn a different sort of independence. One that wasn’t a tactic to survive or keeping people off, but one that taught him how to be free, happy and strong. Now that, of course, didn’t mean hiding or ignoring pain or only relying on oneself. Sometimes, Ronea thought that the image of the man who was complete on his own in every way when it came to emotional support, was the most damaging sterotype of all. He had never felt as strong as he did when he was reminded of how he’d literally given up parts of his freedom by the altar and it had never mattered that those vows were only binding in theory, fact was, Ronea believed that only made them stronger.  
  
It was tempting to think that the vow of obedience was a way of getting out of responsibility and when used in a wrong way, Ronea didn’t doubt it was. But in fact, when it came to living this kind of life in honesty and to the fullest, there were no short-cuts, no emergency exits or locks without keys for either of them. It meant a commitment to something more than a mutual agreement of who to sleep with, how to spend money and how and where to live. Ronea’s marriage dug deep, revealed secrets and wounds, dealt with the weakness, pain and humiliation without ever giving up, and that demanded a whole other approach and expectations than the average relationship.  
  
Whenever one or both of them discovered something felt amiss, other stuff would have to wait until the issue was dealt with. They’d never even went to bed angry with each other, that just didn’t happen in this house. Better fucking up sleep, work and laundry than fucking up their relationship, that was the foundation their marriage was built on. After more than twenty years with this tactic, it meant they very rarely had any serious issues with each other and as the down-to-Earth, science trusting fuckers they both were, they’d never really worried in times when they’d felt less interested in each other, since that was just part of life. As long as they didn’t ignore or blew it out of proportions, they’d always find their way back to each other.  
  
Meeting Juice had meant a lot of excitement in their life together, a lot of exploration and indulging in roles and it had been and still was their second love of their life. In the beginning, Ronea had first thought it was a little too perfect to be true, that all three of them seemed just as in much love with each other. It had taken time and a lot of talking, especially between Filip and Ronea, to sort these changes out and realise what they meant for all three of them.  
  
Ronea looked at his sleeping boy’s weary face. Going through the first time with Filip while also having therapy, after an almost four year long abusive relationship, had felt like being skinned alive from the inside. All the layers, one by one, not getting ripped, but slowly peeled off like giant scabs, leaving sore spots all over him. It left him him feeling completely unprotected and too exhausted to not letting Filip near.  
  
His then boyfriend had never intentionally tried to push too much or cross boundaries without invitation, but it was of course bound to happen, because that was just the way healing worked. By trying to let selected people in and learn to say stop, trusting them to respect that and slowly learning to make more room without squeezing yourself into a corner. Juice didn’t know how to do that yet, he’d learned to make his own space so small over the years, it had slowly strangled him and he’d gotten used to exist instead of living.  
  
Love alone didn’t solve that, but it sure as hell was a good start, because without it, it wouldn’t solve much if Juice got the best professional help there was. Unless there were love and acceptance waiting for him outside a therapist’s office, Ronea’s baby boy would never learn how to apply said therapy on life and use it to his advantage. Ronea kissed Juice’s crown. Him and Filip had both, albeit unknowingly, forced their lover to look at memories so painful he’d probably buried them for years prior to this, and it would be wrong, irresponsible and also unloving  to leave him dealing with it alone. Their sweet lover shouldn’t be left hanging again, ever. Of that, Ronea was certain.


	85. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're digging into some more really painful memories of Juice's, but there's a glimpse of light in the pitch-black darkness too. As always, check the tags.

It took a horrifying moment, short as it was, before his brain caught up. At first, when opening his eyes and seeing nothing but Papi’s soft shirt in front of him, Juice thought he didn’t know, because why would he hold someone who’d ruined his pantry. _Stolen_ his cookies. Then, he remembered being held, cuddled, bathed and having medicine for his stomach. Papi knew about the cookies and _was still holding him in his arms_.  
  
Juice started crying. He wasn’t sad, not really, or even upset. He honestly didn’t know what he felt, just that he couldn’t stop the waterworks. Papi wasn’t startled by it, he just tucked him closer to his chest and rubbed his back.  
  
“You wanna talk, baby boy, or do you just need a moment?”  
  
Juice only sobbed as an answer and Papi nuzzled his hair.  
  
“I’m here, sweetheart. Papi’s here and nothing bad’s gonna happen to my sweet Juice, alright? You have a good cry, baby boy, Papi’s got you.”  
  
Maybe Daddy hadn’t told Papi about the conversation he’d had with Juice by the pantry this morning. Or maybe he had, but it didn’t really matter right now. In this moment, it seemed like crying was the only thing Juice could do.  
  
He’d not cried while revealing the truth to Daddy, strangely he’d not even felt like he needed to. Tears would’ve come in the way for the words and talking about the binges and where they possibly stemmed from had not left any space for actual feelings. Not there and then. Instead, they’d decided to come out now. Sadness, fear, shame, loss and that unsaturated hunger he’d never been able to satisfy.  
  
Memories, not just of his foster homes, but of his years as an adult, were flooding through. Of how that first, almost ecstatic feeling of having his own money, his own place and his own food on the shelves, had been too much for him to handle. How he’d felt so disgusting and bad for eating all the healthy, nice stuff in one go, he had to induce vomiting. How he’d started to separate his shelves into “good and bad” ones. The former had wholegrain stuff, greens and fruit, oats and lean meat. Healthy fats, lots of nuts, seeds and lentals. Things he couldn’t throw up, because that would be a waste and he still desperately wanted to gain some real muscles. It was the shelves for the Juice he wanted to show to others, the one he wanted to be.  
  
The other shelves… The _bad_ ones, oh God, they were just _disgusting_. Really cheap, nasty, sugery stuff with all the wrong kinds of ingredients. Lots of salt and saturated, even trans fat, tons of sugar and unhealthy preservatories. Cookies, chips, chocolate bars, puddings and huge bags of candy. And in the fridge and freezer, giant cakes with thick frosting and big packages of sickly sweet ice cream. He’d both feared and longed for the night, when he was home from work and no one would see him. He’d always pull his curtains and covering the bathroom mirror, turn off his phone – not that anyone ever called – and put some mindless tv show on. Then, he’d eat.  
  
Years of uncertain access to food came crashing down and he wasn’t a well-paid, independent computor technician with a good salary, his own apartment and expensive bike anymore. He wasn’t the buff guy who almost never missed a planned workout, who successfully used not only his skills but also his charming smile to deal with difficult customers and always had time for a joke and laughter with collegues and friends who really didn’t know him at all. The Juice with his healthy lunch, expensive shirt and huge saving account, was gone and in his place there was this starving kid at any age between six and seventeen, who could never be sure of which shelf was bad or good, because they weren’t his to begin with.  
  
Juice weeped miserably into Papi’s chest, because every fucking shelf was dangerous in it’s own way, no matter what was on them. He cried because of the time in that particular house where the mom had first caught him binging. She’d been towering over him as he puked, screaming and scolding him. He’d learned how disgusting, greedy and selfish he was. How he should stop whining, because he deserved what was coming for him, when being this nasty. That the dad sure as hell would give him something to really cry about, as soon as he was done puking.  
  
And he had. The dad had forced all his clothes off and shoved him into the shower, washing him roughly with cold water and cleaning soap to get the smell off. Then he’d whipped him with the buckle end of his belt all over his back, ass and thighs before, as the grand finale, grabbing him hard by the neck and feed him the bucket of pukes, not stopping until Juice was literally passing out. He woke up on a mattress in “his” room, that had been emptied on furniture, because if he acted like an animal, the dad said he should live like one, until he’d learned to control himself.  
  
The treatment had eventually stopped some weeks later and Juice had gotten his bed back and was allowed at the dinner table again, even getting a fucking _praise_ for learning how to behave. Both the mom and dad had been extremely content with their successful technique, even joking about how their “little cookie thief” had learned his lesson so well he didn’t even come near the kitchen unless it was mealtime. The only thing Juice had learnt, was that the family pitbull was treated better than him, and was also treating _him_ better than his foster parents ever did.   
  
The grey and white girl named Dixie had just come out of puppyhood when Juice was sent to the family and while the dad clearly viewed the dog as a soon to be power tool, the young creature had bonded with Juice early on and as the dad at least didn’t lock the door to Juice’s room, Dixie soon had found a way to open it and sneak in for a cuddle. The night when the dad had forced Juice to eat his own vomits, Dixie came in as soon as the rest of the family had gone to bed and snuggled down on the mattress with him.  
  
Feeling a warm, solid and living body close was heaven. Dixie didn’t scold or sigh, she didn’t even bark at him unless it was a welcome home from school kind of noise. She’d wave her tail and start nudging and licking him all over, always so happy to see him. On the mattress she’d keep him company, let him cry in her fur and just lay close to him, warming what was cold and in her own way healing what had been broken. When morning came and the dad came barking in, looking for “his” dog, Dixie growled at him, showing her teeth and refused to leave Juice’s side. The vomit eating episode was somehow the culmination of the abuse and while the foster parents would still hit, mock and just being a general asshole towards him, they never forced him to eat vomits or sleep on the floor again. Dixie had somehow put a stop to that. Juice sniffled, not really crying anymore because there was a small glimpse of kindness even in this horrible memory.  
  
“Dixie… she came to me…”  
“Who’s Dixie, baby boy?”  
“Family dog. A pitbull.”  
“They sicked their dog on you?!”  
  
Papi sounded extremely upset now and Juice shook his head.  
  
“No, no. S’not what happened. Dixie _helped_ me, Papi.”  
  
He sighed, still sniffling, but he felt like his voice could hold up now.  
  
“Dixie was… she was nice to me… Smart dog, too. She… she opened my door, the dad forgot to lock it, and she kept me company. Laid… on the mattress with me, ‘cause he’d taken the bed…”  
“Your foster dad _took your bed_?”  
“Said if I… behaved like an animal, I’d be living like one…”  
“Lord almighty…”  
  
There was so much pain in Papi’s voice, he sounded like he was in agony and Juice instinctivily put a hand on the man’s cheek, stroking it.  
  
“Don’t… don’t cry, Papi... Had Dixie, you know. She… I don’t know why, but she protected me from that day until I was kicked out. Couldn’t stop everything, but… at least I could sit at the dinner table again an’ I got my bed back. She slept in there with me every night… He tried to lock her out once, but she’d bark and growl and just make a fuss until he opened the door to my room…”  
“Sounds like an awesome dog, baby boy.”  
  
Juice smiled, didn’t really know why, but it wasn’t forced. The memory of Dixie was a nice one, beneath all the pain.  
  
“You know, people who have rescue dogs… I think I was kinda Dixie’s rescue human. Have no idea why she became so protective of me that day. I mean, she’d liked me from the beginning but after that she was just… almost like my dog. Like she picked me… I’d never been _picked_ by someone before, Papi… She had six other humans in that house who’d been her flock since she was a pup, but she picked me, Papi… She was theirs but picked _me_ …”


	86. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of ripping off Marilla Cuthberth here, and I have no regrets.

He was no expert on this, or even anything close to a layman. Filip had no personal experience comparable to Juice’s childhood and adolesence, nor any education or working skills that could be of use here. What he had was patience, logic and oceans of love for this man, no matter if it was in his role as a lover, his caretaker or just general protector. Ronea’s pain had not exactly been easier to deal with, or any less heartbreaking, but as the uneven shatters of Juice’s past, with no particular order to how or when they appeared, slowly and messy started to form actual pictures, Filip actually started to see a pattern in what Juice had revealed to him or Ronea about his life.  
  
The abuse had not, as Filip initially thought, been restricted to beatings and degratory words, but covered pretty much every part of Juice’s childhood, save for the sexual area. At least the lad had been spared that particular trauma from foster parents, though being raped in his twenties by a stranger certainly wasn’t a lesser evil, only a different one. The abuse also, which at least to Filip seemed a little unusual, had been doled out from both men and women, maybe not equally, but enough to effectively deprive the kid Juice from any kind of safe haven at home. On the other hand, he’d mentioned getting the stuffed bunny from a sister Lisa, presumably a nun, perhaps on an orphanage of some kind where Juice had stayed as a small child, so while there seemed to be a complete lack of good men in his childhood years, there’d been a few good women at least.  
  
Honestly, Filip couldn’t say he knew any real details of Juice’s childhood or personal life as an adult. Everything he’d told him or Ronea, had been fragments and particular memories, often connected to one specific moment or event. Someone, or most likely several people, had taught Juice to stay silent in his most formative years, or else. In many ways, it was an almost textbook example of childhood trauma, with one major exception: Juice obviously didn’t, and probably never had, reacted on it like you expected _boys_ to. Filip didn’t know how he’d been as a teen, but his gut told him that Juice hadn’t been the typical aggressive type of male victim. He had no criminal record, no drug problems and while he’d not been an A student, his grades most definitely had been among the average or even a little better in some classes. In other words, the child you didn’t caught up as a troubled or difficult one.  
  
“Say something, Filip…”  
  
Filip looked up, realising he’d been stuck in his own thoughts, and almost forgetting about the man telling him the story. Ronea was so pale he looked green and he held their once again heavily sleeping boy in his arms, the grip protective as if he prepared for someone to try and snatch him away. The vision of a pitbull curling up next to a beaten, starved kid on a mattress was one Filip didn’t need any help to form. It was almost too vivid as it was.  
  
“He’s so strong.”  
  
He mumbled it, too silent for Ronea to hear, and when he saw his husband’s puzzled face, Filip spoke a little louder.  
  
“Juice… He’s strong, lovey. Stronger than I ever imagined…”  
“I know.”  
  
Just the literal survival was only one thing. To endure and come out actually, physically alive. A lot of childhood abuse victims did that, which was amazing on its own. Those who managed to not inflict the pain they’s suffered onto others, but broke the line of abuse by showing the love and kindness to others, they themselves had never experienced, were stronger than most people ever had to even imagine.  
  
Juice… he’d not only shown love and affection, respect and care for Filip and Ronea. He’d dared to indulge that deep, unfulfilled need, perhaps without realising it, thinking of it as merely a kink, but still with all the heart and mind he’d been able to put into it. That was more than brave and in a way perhaps extremely foolish – Filip didn’t even dare to think about how this could’ve been used and exploited in the wrong hands – it was just God’s blessing that Juice had ended up in their roses and no one elses. Scared out of his wits, only so disconnected with his trauma, he’d not even realised how frightened he was and therefor never understanding his own strenght.   
  
The memory of that buff man looking so much like a boy, passed out dead drunk in the roses…  
  
“Wha’ if I’d jus’ called the cops tha’ morning…”  
“Guess we were lucky…”  
“T’wasn’t luck, t’was providence. _He knew_ tha’ boy needed us… An’ we needed him… Just as much…”  
  
Although remaining a somewhat devoted Catholic, Filip rarely spoke about his faith with his husband. Ronea, in his own way, believed in God too, but their upbringings had been radically different in this area and they had little memories they could relate to one another. The only thing connecting them, was the fact that they’d always been way closer to their mothers than their fathers. And if the God Filip’s mom once had taught him to believe in, _did_ exist, He’d lead Juice to them that night, drunk and skittish, to let Ronea find him like a highly unexpected rose by another name in his well-groomed garden.  
  
It was a sappy, stupid and downright arrogant thought, that turned a blind eye towards all the misery Juice had been put through prior to that moment, as if he was destined to be treated like shite only to be rescued at the last minute and magically have his bleak life shine in bright colors again. Logically, Filip despised himself for letting himself even near such thoughts, but on the other hand, what were the odds? Really?  
  
The odds for a severly abused, gay and polyamoruous man hooked on BDSM and daddy kink, to go out for two many drinks and end up on his nose in the garden belonging to a gay, male, polyamorous couple, who’d soon be dying for the idea of spoiling the shite out of him, all three of them slowly falling and falling for this shamrock equation none of them yet knew how to solve.  
  
Ronea swallowed.  
  
“I love him for how much more he makes me love you… And how he makes you love him… By just being who he is…”  
“Aye…”  
  
Filip nodded slowly, staring right before him, caught in his thoughts.  
  
“Cannae imagine myself, or any o’ us, ye or me, being able to care ‘bout anyone after a life like tha’… Dinnae jus’ need a maw an’ da, he needed a bloody hero… Deserved one.”  
  
His husband made a bleak laugh, barely louder than Juice’s tender snoring.  
  
“Don’t know where to purchase heros, baby, but… how about a dog?”


	87. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Filip's urge to handle Ronea with care, goes a wee bit too far...

Usually, he was about as far one could come from an impulsive person without slamming in to the autistic spectrum. Ronea had once been quite spontaneous but that was a very long time ago and he’d never missed that side of himself or willfully suppressed it. During his own time in therapy, he’d learned the difference between forced adaption including _traits_ of you that really were you, and when said traits were shown and changed separately from the abuse or abusive person.  
  
Impulsive decisions and actions had for a very long time been something connected with Aaron, as Ronea’s own spontaneous side slowly but steadily got strangled in their relationship and that wound had never healed outside the bedroom. In bed, Ronea felt completely confident in letting go of that particular control issue and indulge in all sorts of things as long as Filip was there to guide them both. That’s how he’d been able to become Juice’s top at all, and not just accept or being alright with it, but truly relish in the role.  
  
But when it came to making decisions, Ronea knew himself well enough to admit he’d never been good at it on his own. He wasn’t stupid, far from it, and had absolutely no difficulties in taking over the steering wheel in times of need, but it always, without exception, left him exhausted after a quite short time. They’d experimented with their lifestyle for a long time before finding balance and Ronea recalled that slowly growing realisation as painful, but mostly an enormous relief for both him and Filip. He needed Filip to be his guide, not in order to survive, but to live and their long years together with steadily decreasing mental health problems, now almost down to nothing save for the occasional flashbacks or moments of anxious exhaustion, was a proof of success if ever there was one.  
  
From outside it was proabably difficult to distinguish Ronea’s trust in his husband to have the final say from skipping away from the responsibility of adulthood and nowadays Ronea didn’t give a flying fuck anymore. He was an introvert through and through, who always felt the most strong when he knew Filip held the reigns and he’d not spent the last twenty years subdued in any way.   
  
All that said, Ronea Telford-Tully blurting out the idea to get a dog was… well, to put it mildly, an anomali and his husband’s facial expression was showing it.  
  
“A _dog_?”  
  
Ronea bit his lip and kept stroking Juice’s shoulders. The boy was still sleeping heavily, completely unaware of his lovers’ sudden subject of discussion. Filip rubbed a hand over his face.  
  
“Jesus… All these years I’ve been prepared for a cat…”  
“What?”  
“Ye love cats, Ronea, an’ I… I guessed ye’d want one sooner or later, when… time felt right.”  
“You mean once I’d be over Leah?”  
  
This was a surprise, honestly. Usually they had no secrets from one another, at least none connected to past traumas or severe problems. Ronea frowned, momentarily irritated, but then it hit him: he’d never actually said he never wanted another cat and his husband, bless his sometimes too careful soul, had patienly waited for him to bring the subject up once he was ready. Ronea laughed, silently not to disturbe Juice, and shook his head.  
  
“It’s been… almost twentyfive _years_ , Filip. Why didn’t you just ask me?”  
  
His husband shrugged.  
  
“Dinnae wannae upset ye, I guess. Figured ye’d tell med once ye were ready, an’…”  
“And?”  
“An’ then we’d gotten a cat.”  
  
Ronea looked softly at the man who’d saved him in ways neither of them would probaby ever fully understand.  
  
“You’d let your husband have a cat instead of the one that got killed, and your lover a dog to replace the one who was his one source of love twenty years ago, just like that? You sweet, silly, marverolus man… How about _you_ , Filip? What would _you_ need?”  
“For my boys to be happy… an’ safe.”  
“How about piss stains from a pup and kitten? Claws on the furniture and walls? Getting dog drool on your pillow and the noise of a cat crashing a flower pot at three am? Spending money on vet bills and the tons of accessory your husband would love to spoil said fur devils with?”  
“Ye’re saying we cannae afford it? An’ be honest now, lovey.”  
  
Ronea rolled his eyes, because he never lied to his husband.  
  
“Of _course_ we can afford it. A dog, a cat, or a whole bunch, if we were aspiring crazy cat ladies with a band of four feet guards in our golden years. I’m good with money, remember.”  
  
Filip looked at him.  
  
“Did ye suggest us getting a dog, solely because o’ wha’ Juice told ‘bout his childhood?”  
“Honestly, I’m not sure, baby.”  
  
Filip nodded and Ronea felt himself relax a little. At least he wasn’t heading into a situation of disobedience. Ronea knew more than well that Filip had absolutely no energy left to deal with a correctional spanking right now and neither had he.  
  
“I admit it was very unexpected of me, I’m just as surprised, believe me. But our boy… Filip, I can’t help but thinking, no, _knowing_ , that he needs something more than just us. And while I really love cats, I still like dogs enough to accept and even enjoy having one in my house. And Juice, he just needs some more help, something that’s steady, reliabe and for once maybe even depending a little on him for a change.”  
“Well… although I cannae disagree with any o’ tha’, we cannae exactly make tha’ decision for him, baby.”  
“I know, and I’m not suggesting we do, Filip. I just… just felt like I should mention it to you.”  
“Aye…”  
  
There was something else in Filip’s voice, though, and Ronea sensed what it was. Filip took his husband’s free hand with the engagement and wedding bands, squeezing it gently.  
  
“S’okay if ye’re not feeling the same ‘bout being home anymore, lovey. Doesn’t feel the same for me at work either.”  
“Haven’t needed, or wanted, company at home for… I don’t even know how long, Filip…”  
  
Ronea shook his head, sounding incredulous from the idea, but so much had changed since finding Juice in their roses and while their boy’s reactions were clearly the most difficult to handle, Filip and Ronea had changed too and that was not necessarily easier to deal with. His husband had seen that and Ronea rubbed a thumb over their entangled fingers.  
  
“I’m just so _tired_ , Filip. I’m a husband, a homemaker and a caregiver, but I’m not and never will be, a guardian.”  
“Ye’re doing a great job, lovey.”  
“Oh, I’m not saying I’m not good at it, baby, I _know_ I am. But it doesn’t suit me, not in the long run. You know how I get when I’m forced to have just a little too much control of my surroundings, Filip. I can handle it for a while, but in the end I’ll get so worried of everything and everyone, I can no longer relax.”  
  
Filip nodded.  
  
“I know, darlin’.”  
  
His husband knew all too well and wasn’t the least surprised that Ronea felt scared as hell to get thrown back into that situation again. Filip stroke his hand.  
  
“A dog… Well, I have to say I gotta get used to the idea, an’ it might take some time so I wouldna bring it up with Juice yet, but… I guess it wouldna hurt to look into it. No strings attached, though. We’ve not made any decision now an’ we wont make one until I say so.”  
  
In a conventional relationship, Ronea would’ve been angry or at least insulted by this, but they’d never been conventional and when Filip had made his decision, one that wasn’t negotiable, Ronea felt himself relax again, shatters once again forming a familiar pattern and loving order replacing chaos.


	88. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rest for a wee warrior.

Sleeping and crying. Rembering, talking, crying again and then sleep some more. Waking up, hopefully not from a nightmare and maybe, with some luck, have some calm between breakfast and lunch. With no luck, which in these days was what to be expected, there’d be a session from a triggered memory of some sort, if it was really bad also a panic attack. Then, the whole display of whatever emotions it stirred up, talking and comforting, always comforting because otherwise Juice was certain he’d somehow literally die from his thoughts. He’d been through times of stress, insomnia and weariness, but not even the exhaustion he’d felt when Daddy and Papi brought him home to live with them so many weeks ago, could compare.  
  
For a long time, he’d just hated it, fighting it with all the strenght he could muster, and now, although he was physically healthier than he’d been in months, he felt so _weak_. Not only in terms of making decisions, or just thinking clearly, but as if someone had pulled the plug and just ran him empty, squeezing him dry and void really. He was too exhausted to make the connection: that he’d spilled an almost twenty years old horror story of his own for the first time in it’s entirety and the world hadn’t imploded. He’d exposed his hidden wound and the shame he’d buried it beneath for so long, and the men he called Daddy and Papi, hadn’t kicked him out, hadn’t thrown his sorry ass in the gutter.  
  
He should be happy, right? Relieved, cause this was what the kid curled up next to the pitbull had wanted, only not hoping as much as he once had: warmth, cuddles, a soft bed and full belly. Someone who’d hold him, who’d talk to him in a friendly, even loving voice and kiss the pain away. People who’d not push him away once they knew what a naughty, pathetic failure of a boy he was.   
  
The small boast of confidence from using the potty was gone, wiped out like it had never happened and Juice felt diminished and crippled from the memories and exposion of them. Papi’s chest was once again the only truly safe place where no one could make him eat his own vomits or sleep on a thin mattress on the cold floor. The only thing the memories hadn’t taken from him this time, was how comforting the steady heartbeats and strong arms felt onto his body.   
  
Papi held him in the sling again and had wrapped the cuddliest blanket from the nest around them both. It was made of plush on one side and fuzzy on the other, like a wool from a lamb only much softer and it felt increadibly cozy. He’d gotten his pacifier as well and perhaps it was something seriously wrong in taking such comfort from a baby’s item like this, but right now grown-up Juice didn’t care. It seemed as if his adult side had finally come to terms with the fact that there were moments when adult thoughts simply couldn’t help, but a pacifier and a pair of loving arms holding his tense and pain-ridden body like a baby would.  
  
He wasn’t crying right now, just resting on Papi’s chest, feeling the soft movements of the man’s knitting on the small of his back, occasionally interrupted by the right hand putting the knit down to bring a cup of floral tea to his lips. The sound of voices behind Juice’s back took a little while to place: Miss Marple solving another mystery, probably in a tranquil village on the countryside, where no one would ever believe a murder could be committed.  
  
Papi was safety. He’d stick his knits in any evil person daring to get near. He would’ve put all of Little Juice’s, or Juan Carlos’, bad foster parents on his knits, pierce them through like a skewer and have Daddy roast them slowly over open fire. Daddy would do anything for Papi… Papi was the submissive one, who’d promised to obey him the rest of his life, even signed papers to prove it, but Daddy _lived_ to make him happy. Nothing was too small – or too big – for him to try and do if Papi needed it. Juice had never really understood the power in submission before. He’d been submissive with other men and even seen others in the same position on clubs, but other men calling him boy, pet or baby had a very different tone to it.  
  
It had been a game with them, roles they momentarily induldged in and no amount of aftercare had been enough to wipe the feeling of hollowness away. Nothing ever had, until he’d made the agreement with Daddy and Papi.   
  
Even that time when he’d dared to go back with the rose plant, when he was still very ashamed and couldn’t understand why he had this urge to try and make the man with the scars and his eyeliner painted husband think better of him, it had just felt different. They’d been so strict, their home so beautiful and that smile the homemaker gave him when seeing the plant was of a kind Juice had _never_ seen directed at him. Completely open, a little bashful and surprised, but just so adorable and genuinly happy it was impossible to mistake it as something else. And the scarred man had smiled too, eyes softer than Juice could imagine the strict, Scottish biker who’d spanked him was even capable of.  
  
Yes, he should be happy and extremely grateful for being allowed into their home, their bed and lives. It had felt so right when the man he still called Mr. Telford had taken him over his knee that first time in Juice’s apartment. So right he’d let his guard down and without realising it, called the man reddening his ass _daddy_ in the midst of that glorious spanking. For the first time in his life, blurting out even a fragment of a wish, had meant Juice Ortiz, who very few people called Juan Carlos these days, had a chance of getting something he yearned for.  
  
He was almost asleep again when Papi put the knitting down and kissed his hair.  
  
“Time for bed, baby boy. Papi’s coming too, you’re not gonna be alone.”  
  
They always reassured him, both Papi and Daddy. Juice didn’t have to do anything, just feeling how Papi rose slowly from the couch with the help of Daddy to handle the extra weight of Juice in the sling. He was carried upstairs, the soft blanket still tucked around his back and it was everything he needed, just this gentle closeness, like he was an extention of Papi.  
  
The sleep routine was the same as always: he got half undressed and had a diaper change in the bathroom, carried in to the bed to get his pajamas on and have Daddy help him to brush his teeth. When they were done, Papi was ready for bed too, dressed in one of his washed out tanktops that smelled so much of him it was comforting just to be near it. Juice snuggled down onto his chest, soon feeling Daddy’s protective form against his back, curling around him all the way. The duvet was pulled over them and the window slightly opened to get some fresh air inside.  
  
The soft wind how ever, sent a small chill down Juice’s spine and he cluthed Papi’s grey tanktop.  
  
“S-stayin’…? Juice’s… stayin’…?”  
  
Daddy’s whiskers tickled his neck with a kiss.  
  
“Always, laddie… We love ye so much, lil’ one… We’re a family, Juicyboy, we belong together, of course ye’re staying with Daddy an’ Papi… Now go to sleep, my wee warrior… S’time for ye to rest…”


	89. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy and Juice have a kind of eureka moment. Sort of.

It wasn’t often Filip stepped into Ronea’s work areas, but desperate times called for what others might not call desperate measures. Ronea was tired and needed the rest, thankfully realising it himself as Filip whispered to him to sleep in and let him take care of the breakfast this morning – and Juice. All said and done, Filip was pretty proud of himself for managing to pursuade his tired lad to leave Papi’s arms and the warm bed without any fuss.  
  
The lad yawned a lot and was a little stiff in his movements, but he willingly followed Filip to the bathroom and laid down to get his nappy off. Filip removed it with a surprised little sound.  
  
“T’is all dry, Juicy.”  
“Huh?”  
  
Filip smiled at him.  
  
“The nappy’s not wet or smeared, lovey.”  
“S’not?”  
  
Juice sounded highly surprised and frowned.  
  
“Daddy?”  
“Aye, lovey?”  
“Think I can… sit on the potty?”  
“Of course, lil’ one. C’mere.”  
  
His lil’ one was still a bit slow and clumsy from sleep, but managed well enough to get off the floor and onto the potty chair with only a little help. The thing had handles so that Juice would have support and Filip stroke his hair.  
  
“Ye wannae be alone while ye sit on the potty?”  
  
There was a risk that last day’s strenuous and painful talking would throw Juice backwards again, slowing down or even undoing some of the progress he’d made, but Filip didn’t want to pretend he was thinking that. The fact that the diaper hadn’t been wet and that Juice asked for the potty was promising though. The kid looked like he wasn’t sure, but he nodded.  
  
“You’ll… be right outside, Daddy?”  
“Of course, lovey. Oh, an’ jus’ a moment… I’ll be righ’ back.”  
  
He quickly padded back into the bedroom to grab Ronea’s old iPad and put it on. His husband only used it for recipe stuff and the occasional puzzle games when he got bored of his needlework and Filip scrolled through the few apps, finding what he looked for and got back to Juice. The lad looked a little uncertain on his adult potty and Filip handed him the iPad.  
  
“What’s this for, Daddy?”  
“Jus’ figured ye might need some distraction, ye know, to relax. Yer Papi has a bunch o’ games on it, maybe they’d be o’ help.”  
  
Juice smiled a little and nodded.  
  
“Kay. Thank you, Daddy.”  
“Ye’re welcome, Juicy.”  
  
He kissed the lad’s head and then went outside to wait. He sat down at the armchair in the hallway, flipping through his phone while waiting, although keeping an ear towards the bathroom. The door was ajar, not fully closed, and Filip tried to not listen like he was snooping. It obviously took time for Juice and it probably still hurt a little, but he didn’t seem to push himself too hard. After a while, the lad called for him and Filip got back in the bathroom, where Juice already had moved from the potty to the changing pad.  
  
“Hurt just a little, Daddy. P-played some Bejewled though.”  
  
He seemed anxious, hence the stutter, but probably not from having used the potty, but more from the strain it had taken. A quick peek in the potty proved that Juice’s stomach hadn’t crashed again and Filip flushed the containts down the toilet before starting the cleaning routine.  
  
Juice was well enough to help a little more and lifted his hips quite easily despite the weariness, helping his Daddy out with the nappy and pants. When they were done, it was still difficult for him to stand at first, the stiffness in his sore body was always worse after an episode of hard talking, but he didn’t reel and sat down on the stool by the sink to wash his upper body properly albeit slow. He lingered with his fingers by one of his tattoos, the one on his left upper arm and made a small frown.   
  
Filip rubbed his shoulder.  
  
“Wha’s worrying ye, Juice?”  
“Nothing, Daddy. S’just… “  
“What?”  
“Need to fill this one again…”  
“Why?”  
  
The lad sighed and made a grimaze, as if Filip had said something stupid. He grabbed Filip’s hand and moved it to a small spot on the ink that didn’t look strange but the skin felt different.  
  
“Ink’s pretty old, I… I need to…”  
  
 Juice shrugged and Filip swallowed, now stroking that spot with his thumb. It was so pale now it was hard to reckognize, but Filip still had his medical eye even if his sight wasn’t what it had been.  
  
“Cigarettes?”  
“Yeah. Have to… you know, better it every once in a while… Aint visible… usually.”  
“But now ye’ve been with us for a while, so…”  
“I forgot to make my usual appointment. And… and it’s so small, mostly I don’t even think about it. S’not like…”  
“Like my Glasgow smile or Papi’s back?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
The lad sighed and leaned onto Filip’s stomach.  
  
“So sick of… feeling broken, Daddy… S’not as… I’m not as ashamed of this… the diapers and you helping me with so much, at least not if I don’t think too much ‘bout it, but… Daddy?”  
“Aye, lovey?”  
“Miss being strong, Daddy. You know… physically. I’m used to be a nutcase, but I miss riding my bike, miss the gym, miss… all the fun stuff I did when… when I had good days. Fun things _we_ did… Not very good at explaining this…”  
“Ye’re not a nutcase, there’s nothing wrong with yer explanation, laddie, an’ I think I understand a wee bit. Certainly understand missing yer bike an’ not having pain all the time. Here’s yer tanktop.”  
  
Juice put it on with slow movements all the way up to pulling it all the way down, where Filip had to give some assistance again and Juice made a small grimaze at a particularly sore muscle on his left shoulder. It cracked when he tipped his head to the right.  
  
“Easy there, boy. I’ll warm ye a wheat pillow for it at breakfast, alright?”  
“Thank you, Daddy. Might… help…”  
  
Filip knew before it happened and just squatted down, opening his arms for Juice and the lad all but whimpered.  
  
“I’m so… _sick_ of this, Daddy! I just wanna… wanna wake up and feel normal again… But I jus’ feel like… like an old man, like… a _really_ old man who no longer can… do anything… Always tired an’ sore… An’ things just… nothing’s really in order _inside_ me, Daddy… Only they never really were…”  
  
It broke Filip’s heart, only he’d rather die than show it now. Juice had always had such a hard time speaking words like these spontaneous when he wasn’t under the influence of a panic attack or the aftermaths of a nightmare or a triggered memory. Filip pulled him close, not rocking or shushing him, but simply holding this exhausted, increadiblt strong lad who was so scared of falling apart. The sobbing contintued and tears were wetting the crook of Filip’s neck.  
  
“S’just so chaotic, Daddy… I… I know I’ve told about… stuff I haven’t before and I’m…”  
“Feeling completely upside down, aye?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Juice sniffled and clutched on harder.  
  
“Can’t… can’t fucking explain things, Daddy… S’like I have no words, you know… Fuck, this sounds stupid too…”  
“No, no, no, lil’ one. T’is _not_ stupid, nor does it _sound_ stupid. In fact, I think it sounds like ye’re onto something here, an’ I’d very much like for ye to keep talking, even if ye feel stupid, ‘cause ye’re _not._ ”  
  
He rocked his heartbroken lad and kissed his hair.  
  
“Has it always been difficult for ye to find words for wha’ ye’re feeling in general, Juicy?”  
  
A small nod, followed by another sob.  
  
“Yeah…”  
“Not jus’ in deep talking or other intimate situations?”  
“No, s’always been difficult. Except in bed, I guess.”  
  
An ironical little snort.  
  
“Things jus’… they mix together, Daddy, an’ when it’s really bad, s’just not tha’ I don’ know wha’ I feel, I don’ even know _if_ I feel or how to separate one feeling from another…”  
  
Oh. _Oh._ Suddenly it clicked. The chaos that was so messed up the word _chaos_ sometimes felt too mild for it. At first, the lad’s difficulties with talking had seemed to be a usual trait of social anxiety and later, once they’d come to know him better, Filip and possibly Ronea too, had automatically assumed that the villain in this untold story was the fear of being rejected. And sure, that was a part of it, but Filip had never thought about the possibility that one of Juice’s major problems was to identify and put words to feelings in general.  
  
“Alexithymia…”  
  
He mumbled it, almost to himself, when Juice tugged his sleeve.  
  
“Wha’s that, Daddy?”  
“T’is wha’ ye just described, Juice. Not knowing wha’ ye feel, an’ having troubles separating different feelings or sometimes even not knowing if ye feel anything at all.”   
  
Juice stilled completely, like he’d been momentarily paralyzed and his wet eyes got wide as tea cups.  
  
“There’s… there’s a _word_ for that?!”  
“Aye, there is. But, Juicy, ye gotta remember I’m not a doctor or a psychologist. I read about alexithymia in a medical magazine some years back, don’ even remember where or why I came over it, but it sorta stuck.”  
  
He let out a short laughter.  
  
“Sadly I dinnae recall tha’ term earlier on.”  
“Y-you think I have that…? S’it like a diagnosis?”  
  
Filip stroke his hair and slid down to hold his face between his hands.  
  
“I’m not a big fan on laymen playing Google doctors, Juicyboy, an’ I certainly wont say ye have this or tha’, jus’ because the way ye describe yer feelings reminds me o’ alexithymia. But… _maybe_ we can use tha’ term as a sorta… base for talking ‘bout yer difficulties, aye?”


	90. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've had a crazy busy week and not had time to write much until this morning, so here's the next chapter. I might not have time to update as often as before due to a change of schedule, but the story is still alive and kicking :)
> 
> Papi gives his view on this alexithymia thing and Juice learns that Daddy's corrections sometimes include some very unexpected things.
> 
> *kisses and hugs*

“Well, I’ll say… “  
  
In fact, he didn’t say anything, because there was no need. Ronea had his late breakfast with a huge soy latte and Filip’s special “bachelor bagel” with far too much cholesterol in the shape of four slices of bacon and two eggs. Heart attack on a plate, Ronea usually called it, but every once in a while he’d allow himself to indulge some.  
  
Juice, that cute little thing, had obviously cried, but looked almost relaxed, not in the exhausted or chemically assisted way, but naturally albeit a little wary, in his curled up position on Filip’s lap, silently listening to his Daddy’s musings about his problems. Ronea put his coffee down a moment.  
  
“Alexithymia… Can’t say I’ve ever heard that term before, but it makes sense, I guess.”  
  
Juice looked instantly worried again, clearly needing someone who knew things, but Ronea was no medical expert in any sense and wouldn’t pretend he was. He took his baby boy’s hand.  
  
“Juicy, I’m sure that Daddy already told you that the only one who can confirm any kind of medical diagnosis, is a trained doctor who has expertise in that specific area. But… let me finish, baby boy.”  
  
He held up his hand and Juice’s half-opened mouth closed. Ronea smiled.  
  
“You know, not every psychiatric problem requires medical professionals’ _immediate_ attention to get handled. I’m sure there’s a lot of practical ways one can try to at least start to work with it. Or am I talking out my ass now, Filip?”  
  
His husband shook his head.  
  
“No, ye’re right, lovey.”  
  
Ronea took another sip of his coffee.  
  
“Well… in that case, I have to say that things already are pretty scattered as they are, when it comes to your life, baby boy. No, no, don’t appologise, sweet darling, I don’t mean it as critique of any kind, believe me. But the thing is, which I believe has been the elephant in the room for quite some time now, that you’ve not shown us that you’re ready to start actual therapy, Juice.”  
“What… what do mean, Papi?”  
  
Juice sounded a bit apprehensive now, the previous relief and almost happy appearance lost in a heartbeat and this, exactly this, was what Ronea had anticipated. This rollercoster ride through emotions, good and bad, that was so exhausting his boy no doubt was desperate for anything that could explain it to him and make sense of his chaos in an instance.  
  
Ronea once again took his baby’s hand, squeezing it gently.  
  
“I’m well aware that there are situations when therapy isn’t necessary to heal from a trauma. Sometimes it absolutely _can_ be enough with the support of family and friends, meds and simply giving yourself time to heal, but I wholeheartedly think this aint one of those situations, Juice. And while I’m very relieved that we’ve been able to help you as much as we have this far, just being our baby boy wont fix _all_ of your problems.”  
“Not therapy, Papi… Please? I-I’m gonna try harder, I promise. Try and g-go back to work and…”  
“Hey, baby boy, come to Papi.”  
  
Ronea opened his arms and Juice left Filip’s lap to snuggle up against his Papi’s chest instead. Like a trembling little bunny, Ronea thought, and he hugged him tight, nuzzling the crook of his neck.  
  
“My little love, this aint about you not trying hard enough, believe me. You’re a fighter, Juice, and a lot stronger than you may think, but it’s difficult to dig deep and the best thing for you, would be to get some professional help in addition to the things we help you with. Not because you’re a nuisance to us, because you’re not, and not because you’re too broken or crazy for us to love you. It’s because in order to get as well as you, me and Daddy want you to be, to feel good and relaxed about yourself, you’ll need more than a strict routine, healthy food and spankings, angel.”  
  
Juice still trembled, but didn’t object this time, maybe simply overwhelmed with all the feelings he couldn’t name or even separate. Filip took his hands now, holding both of them, still easily cold and looking a little skinny in his warm ones.  
  
“Juicyboy, ye’re not crazy an’ we don’ wannae fix ye like ye’re some broken plaything to us, alright? Yer Papi was extremely reluctant to any kind o’ professional help, but I think we can both safely say tha’ he wouldna have been who he is now, wasn’t it for tha’ help.”  
“And I wouldn’t have been married to Daddy either, baby boy. Remember Daddy’s most important rule for Papi?”  
“Taking care of himself…?”  
  
Juice looked up, adorably, like that skittish bunny he reminded of, suspicious and ready to hide, but he did meet Ronea’s eyes and then Filip’s, hesistance in the gaze, yet no actual panic. Filip smiled at him.  
  
“Aye, tha’s right, lovey. An’ tha’ rule applies to ye as well, kiddo. T’is unacceptabe for any o’ my boys to treat themselves less than they deserve, and if I see tha’ any o’ ye think less o’ yerself than ye should, I will have to correct ye. An’ while tha’ _can_ include a spanking, it _always_ includes tasks designed to have ye practice self-care.”  
  
Now Ronea smiled too.  
  
“Can you belive that Daddy once ‘corrected’ me with a punch-ticket for _manicure_?”  
“Daddy?”  
  
Juice was baffled, so much that he looked at his Daddy for confirmation and the man laughed, so did Ronea and Filip pinched Juice’s cheek cheerfully.  
  
“Aye, tha’ I did, kiddo.”  
  
Then Filip looked serious again.  
  
“Thing is, Juicyboy, t’is never easy to see someone ye love being hurt, no matter how. Ye’re a sweet, kind an’ compassionate person who’d do anything for the ones ye love, regardless o’ how tha’ might take it’s toll on ye. I’ve seen how empathic ye are, the acceptance an’ respect ye’ve shown us from the start… Lovey, I don’ think ye realise how unusual tha’ amount o’ natural candor is. We’ve had shared lovers before, Juicy, an’ while they’ve been easier to have fun with, they’ve also been just as easy to let go of.”  
  
Ronea kissed Juice’s temple.  
  
“My husband is a truthful man, baby boy. No one but you has ever been living with us like this, mostly we’ve not even brought them to our bedroom, since it felt too intimate. We’d arrange a huge, temporary bed downstairs, but you’re actually the first one we didn’t even contemplate dragging that old thing out for.”  
“I can show it to ye, lil’ one. T’is probably thick with dust now, tucked away in the basement.”  
  
Filip leaned his forehead onto Juice’s.  
  
“I know this is bloody chaotic an’ overwhelming an’ all, Juicy, but frankly me an’ Papi don’ even know ‘bout another way to start a new life with someone ye love. We’re both strong as hell, lil’ one, an’ we’ll carry ye when ye need it, but also help ye get yer feet strong again. Ye’d allow us tha’, Juicy? Even if it means a lot o’ painful work? Ye think ye’d be able to trust us enough to lead the way in this as well?”  
  
Juice’s eyes were so huge and dark, pupils blown and the terror still there, waiting beneath the surface.  
  
“I… I wanna be better, Daddy. F-feel better… If… if you think that’s possible…”  
“I do, with all my heart, lovey.”  
“C-can’t promise anything, but…”  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
“If you… if you show me h-how, Daddy, I’ll t-try…”


	91. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi gently tries to teach Juice about self-care.

The following days, Daddy spent a lot of time on his laptop, which otherwise was very infrequently used, and a part of Juice internally drooled over the idea of getting his hands on it and make all the necessary upgrades his technically dinosaur of a lover understood zilch about. He didn’t say it though, since he still felt very much like his thoughts and feelings had gone on a joint march into complete anarchy and it was extremely tiresome.  
   
As for Papi, he calmly kept to his routine and made sure Juice was a part of it, making the change of Daddy’s habits less noticable. They still did a lot of stretching and also gentle physical exercise that included what Juice later realised were yoga positions. He’d never tried it himself and always associated it with urban women in branded clothes or dopey flower power kind of people living of biodynamic germs and trying to become “one with Mother Earth” and stuff like that. But apparantly he’d been more than a little narrow-minded on the issue, which Papi’s amused chuckle told clear enough as Juice had given air to his suspicions.  
  
“There are lots of different types of yoga, baby boy, and while I like hotpants and stockings, I can assure you that no one will ever see your Papi in female yoga pants or down a fancy studio for rich people who stresses over too much work. Or, God forbid, out in the open with some tree hugging group of free spirits.”  
  
Juice didn’t really know what to answer as Papi moved the coffee table and fluffy carpet to make room for a yoga mat in front of the telly. He looked through the shelves with DVD:s and found one with the classical perfect girl in tight pants in a lotus position on the cover. Juice looked incredulously at it.  
  
“You never told me you’re doing yoga, Papi.”  
“It was a long time ago, baby boy, when I carried around a lot of stress.”  
“Daddy forced you to it? Like… with that self-care stuff?”  
  
Papi made a small smile and sat down on the mat, pulling Juice close in a hug.  
  
“I’m starting to think that you might have misunderstood that particular rule of our marriage, Juicy. While it is true that Daddy can step in and tell me to take care of myself, since that’s one of the most important rules for me, he’s not enforcing a special _kind_ of self-care onto me regardless of my feelings.”  
“I… I don’t quite follow, Papi.”  
“Well, the thing with self-care, is that it has to start out from your own personal perequisities, baby boy. And since Daddy isn’t me, he can’t fully determine what’s self-care for me and not. I need his guidance to make myself do it, yes, but he needs mine just as much, to help me trust my own feelings and to help me adjust routines. I’ve become much better at this compared to how I handled stress and emotional problems twenty, fifteen or even ten years ago. Nowadays, I can take good care about my body and mind, without needing much guidance anymore. I’ve learnt how to reckognize when I’m stressed out or overworked, and how to deal with it.”  
  
He smiled again, that slightly teasing one.  
  
“Of course, there are still times when your Papi gets stuck in a bad loop and needs Daddy’s help to pull him out of it before it escalates. There are various self-care activities in my weekly routine and when and if Daddy finds it necessary to increase them due to my health, I must obey.”  
“Or Daddy spanks you.”  
“You bet he will, baby boy. If Daddy orders me to give myself more time for self-indulgance and I don’t, I’m sent out to cut my own rod and after a very unpleasant spanking, I’m actually sent straight to bed. Once it was only four in the afternoon and I still had to stay in bed until the next morning. No books, no tv, no music.”  
“That sounds awful, Papi.”  
“It’s not fun, believe me. Daddy eventually allowed me my knitting, but only after a long, very emotionally straining talk, where I had to prove to him that I understood the importance of following that rule. I think that time was when I finally began to realise that being nice to myself was a just as important rule as being respectful and taking care of our home.”  
“So… you started with yoga?”  
  
Papi nodded.  
  
“Yes, I did, but that was actually a little later on. I’d tried walkings, sitting in the garden, driving to the lake and lots of other stuff and nothing seemed to work. Massage is nice and all, but you can’t do it too often and back then I was quite frail, both physically and mentally. I needed something that would help take my mind off self-destructive thoughts, in a way that didn’t stressed my body too much. I was thin and often tense and I got easily caught up in hyper focusing , so Daddy decided to put that to some actual good use.”  
  
There was a sad glimpse in Papi’s eyes now, but he still smiled.  
  
“Taking good care myself, body and soul, has probably been the hardest lesson for me to learn, Juicy, and I’ve often felt a lot of shame and guilt for not being able to do it on my own. It’s felt a lot like giving over all responsibility for my health to Daddy and sometimes that has made me feel weak, useless and, frankly, childlike, in a very uncomfortable and anything but relieving way. Sometimes, especially in the beginning, I felt simoultaneously humiliated by being forced to make self-indulgent stuff, and horribly guilty for, as I saw it, wasting nice things or treatments on someone who didn’t deserve or even appreciated them.”  
“You deserved them, Papi!”  
“I know, baby boy, but I didn’t back then. Once, Daddy had to leave work and come and get me at one of my self-indulgence activities.”  
“Why?”  
“Cause instead of enjoying myself, I was hiding in a treatment room at a spa.”


	92. Filip/Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Filip wanted to teach Ronea self-care and instead gave him rashes and panic...

**_12 years earlier_  
  
Filip**  
He didn’t realise how angry he’d been while riding, until he entered the facility to look for his ungrateful husband. Ever since hanging up on the polite but stressed out spa owner who had other scheduled guests waiting for their turn in the popular room. Filip had made an effort to find the best place he could afford for Ronea’s treatment, and instead of enjoying himself, his husband had occupied one of the treatment rooms and refused to let anyone in.  
  
Filip parked his bike and marched up the alley through the fancy glass doors, blind to anything but the mission on finding his husband, appologise to the staff and take the ungrateful man somewhere secluded for a darn good spanking.  
  
He’d been forced to leave an important customer as well and Filip was in worst possible mood when he finally took his sunglasses off and looked around the lobby.  
  
“Jesus, Mary an’ Joseph…”  
  
Years later, both Filip and Ronea would laugh at this memory, but laughter was the last thing on Filip’s mind now. The lobby was ridiculously grand and most walls seemed to be of glass, showing a practically cramped place with supposedly relaxing pools and bambu screens, tons of women in white bathrobes with drinks in their hands and not a single man in eyesight. Filip sighed and went to the receptionist, a young woman with a far too white smile who’d clearly never been told how fake it looked.  
  
“Hello, have you an appointment, sir?”  
“No, I’m here ‘bout my husband. Ronea Telford-Tully.”  
“Mhm… He’s scheduled for today, sir?”  
“Aye… For a facial… Ye called an’ tol’ me he…”  
  
He felt himself getting red now and took a deep breath.  
  
“Tha’ he’d locked himself inside the… treatment room.”  
“Oh, you’re his… partner?”  
“Aye, I made the booking. Filip Telford. Where’s he?”  
“Just a moment, I’ll call for Charlotte.”  
“Thank ye.”  
“Charlotte Green to the reception, Charlotte Green, there’s a Filip Telford waiting for you. A Filip _Telford_!”  
  
Could this be any more embarressing? Filip doubted it and the anger over his husband came back. It seemed like ages until a door opened and another woman, older than the receptionist but with the same plastic smile, came out.  
  
“Mr. Telford?”  
“Aye, ma’m. Tha’s me. Appologise for the inconvenience.”  
“We’re glad you showed up so fast, sir. Your partner refuses to leave the room and we have guests waiting.”  
  
They really had to talk loud and clear for anyone to hear, didn’t they? It was with blue shoe covers and tightly pressed lips that Filip did the walk of shame towards the room Ronea apparantly occupied and knocked on the door.  
  
“Ronea? Ti’s Filip. Open up, will ye?”  
  
He tried to sound as casual as possible, despite the embarressing situation, and indeed, the door got unlocked and Filip turned to the staff.  
  
“Will ye give us a moment, please? Might get quicker.”  
“Of course, sir. There’s a customer waiting, though…”  
“I’ll hurry.”  
  
That was a promise he really couldn’t make, but he had to get some privacy or he’d never get his husband out of here. Filip opened the door as little as possible and went inside, closing it behind him.  
  
“ _Ronea?_ ”  
  
He couldn’t make himself stop from sounding exactly as a angry as he felt and the answer was a pitiful whisper.  
  
“Here…”  
  
He’d been prepared to give a discrete but no less lectioning speech about rules, respect and not to embarress ones husband, especially not with something that was supposed to be a treat, but any harsh words or thoughts on how to spank his husband when they got home, died the moment Filip saw him. Ronea was crouched in a corner, the fancy bathrobe tightly wrapped around him and… _Jesus Christ_ , his arms were completely covered in rashes, blisters and eczema. Filip sank down on his heels.  
  
“Lord almighty, Ronea, wha’s this?”  
“I’m sorry, Filip. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”  
“Wha’s happened with yer arms, lovey?”  
  
Only then Ronea lifted his teary face, which looked even worse than the arms.  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ … How did…?”  
“Might have been the… the shower gel an’ the facial… started itching and when I took the robe off…”  
  
Ronea started sobbing now, quietly, but it was no less heartbreaking and his thin shoulders were shaking.  
  
“I’m s-sorry, I know I should’ve just… but I panicked and I forgot my p-pills in the locker… I’m sorry, Filip…”  
“Hey, c’mere, lovey. Shh, no _I’m_ sorry, I shouldna have barked at ye like tha’… Jus’… lemme hold ye, baby?”  
  
He soon held his devestated husband in his arms and Filip once again realised how frail Ronea still was. He’d lost some weight again and generally felt low in the last weeks, which had been one of the reasons why Filip had wanted to indulge him properly today. As with their first date, he’d been so occupied with the idea of giving this man the best, without really thinking about what _the best_ meant for Ronea. And in hindsight, sending him to an expensive spa he’d never been near had not been relaxing at all, only extremely stressful with all the glass walls, amount of people and on top of that, a very unexpected and unwelcomed allergic reaction to something. Ronea sniffled.  
  
“Was almost looking forward to it, Filip… I swear… I… I know I’ve earned the rod, I’ll cut one the minute I…”  
“Stop righ’ there, lovey. I admit I was angry when they called, an’ tha’ I was intent on giving ye a good spanking the minute we got outta here, but they dinnae tol’ me tha’ the treatment gave ye rashes all over… Shh, darlin’, s’not yer fault an’ I’m so sorry tha’ I jumped to conclusions an’ spoke hard to ye. Wha’ was in those products? I told’em specifically _not_ to use bloody mango…”  
  
He bent closer to sniff his husband’s skin, but there was no smell of mango. Filip grunted and gave Ronea a kiss on his hair.  
  
“Don’ cry, lovey, I’m not mad at ye an' this is not yer fault, but I have to speak to the woman who treated ye. Stay righ’ here, darlin’, I’ll be back soon.”  
  
He managed to leave his husband on the floor, stepped outside with enough murder in his eyes that no one asked if the room was available yet and he turned to the woman who’d shown him there.  
  
“S’there by any chance mango in yer shower gel?”  
“Mango? Uhm, no, I… well, I can’t… I don’t think so, sir.”  
“Could ye, perhaps, take a look at the bottle, please?”  
“Uhm… Yes, yes, of course, sir. Just a sec.”  
“Thank ye.”  
  
The bottle in question was small and the woman read through the list of ingredients and shook her head.  
  
“No, sir. No mango.”  
“Lemme see.”  
  
She looked offended but handed over the bottle and Filip read the label with a sigh.  
  
“ _Urushiol oil_ … Wha’ kind o’ eejits work here? Ye even know half o’ wha’s in yer products? Urushiol oil is bloody _mango tree_ , ye tool! No wonder he looks like a bleedin’, stomped tomato all over. Ye have _any idea_ how much I saved for this an’ how difficult it is to have’im do _anything nice to himself at all?_ Ye have any unperfumed soap an’ topical corticosteroid cream in this place? If so, then please, go get’em. An’ if there’s any complaints ‘bout us occupying this room, jus’ send yer boss over here an’ lemme speak to her.”  
  
The woman rushed off and within fifteen minutes, Filip had helped his still shivering husband to a pill from his jar of panic attack med, some water and treated his painfully rashed and now also blistered skin with corticosteroid cream. He’d helped him on with his clothes and then, without using all too many Gaelic curse words, told the appalled spa owner exactly how little Filip Telford appreciated when _so called health workers_ had no fucking idea what was in their products. And no, he didn’t bloody accept a free treatment as compensation! Money back, that was it, and maybe the leather kutte, the scars and Scottish accent did more to it than Filip’s actual words or persona, but he left the facility with Ronea as well as a complete refund and a small goodie bag containing 100% mango free products.  
  
Not really what Filip considered a fitting punishment for giving his husband rashes and a panic attack, but at least they were on their way home to safety now.  
  
**Ronea**  
“I’m… hideous! I look like a… reversed _toadstool_! Everyone looked at me, Filip! I’m never going back again! I’ll pay you back and you can spank me as much as you wanna, but…”  
“Ronea?”  
“What?”  
“Are ye done, lovey?”  
  
They’d been married for several years and still, Ronea was sometimes taken aback by how soft his husband could sound. It made Ronea stop in his rambling, but had him cry again instead. Yes, he sank down on the floor in the bedroom, back against the bed and sobbed into his knees. He would get a spanking for this, of course, and he wasn’t trying to get out of it by crying, he never did that, but today he couldn’t help himself.  
  
He’d embarressed his husband at that fine spa place and forced him to leave work to come getting him like a parent to some tantrum throwing toddler. He’d thrown money away, not only by wasting the treatment, but by having Filip leave work to come and get him.  
  
“Can I hold ye, darlin’? Please?”  
“Don’t look at me, Filip.”  
“I’m not gonnae look, jus’ hold ye, lovey. Can I?”  
  
He could. He almost always could, but Ronea didn’t feel like he deserved that now. Filip, how ever, pulled him close and just hugged him, careful not to touch the face. He smelled like motor oil, coffee and smoke, soothing in it’s very own way.  
  
“Things dinnae go as we planned, darlin’. Have to admit I got a wee bit… surprised by tha’ grand lobby an’ all the glass doors… Looked a lot more private on their website.”  
“Was so crowded…”  
“I know, I saw tha’. Privacy, my pale arse. An’ I tol’ em when I made the reservation, not to use any bloody mango shite stuff, which they promised would be no fucking problem at all. Arseholes. I’m so, so sorry ye had to experience tha’, baby.”  
“I’m such a brat… Threw all that money away…”  
“Lovey, we’re getting refund an’ even if we dinnae, I still don’ bloody care ‘bout the money. Fuck them, Ronea, an’ no, ye’re not getting a spanking for this. Ye weren’t a brat, ye had a panic attack an’ bleedin’ rashes. God, tha’ looks so painful, lovey…”  
  
It was. His entire upper body was screaming and he still had his clothes on. Filip held the hem of his t-shirt.  
  
“Lemme help ye get this off, alright?”  
  
In the horrible situation at the spa, the fear of being seen had trumfed the pain, but peeling the clothes off now was fucking agony and some blisters even bursted in the process. Ronea had rather had a punishment spanking any day of the week instead of this. He was extremely stiff in his moves and Filip pressed a kiss on his nape.  
  
“Ye’ll gonnae need some pain meds for this, lovey.”  
“Okay…”  
  
He trusted his husband with his life, what was a shitload of blisters? Filip gave him an Advil, washed up, put medical gloves on and then washed the blistered areas thoroughly with rubbing alcohol before soaking a needle in the liquid.  
  
“I’d rather let’em heal without popping, but unless I do this, they’re gonnae burst all over ye in bed instead. I’ll dry’em up, get ye some more corticosteroid cream an’ put gauze around’em. Alright, lovey?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
They had to wait a bit for the Advil to work some and Ronea was mostly just crying, out of pain and exhaustion since at least his anxiety med was already working it’s magic. When Filip finally started to pop the blisters, it was disgusting and painful, but Ronea could handle it. The drying up part was worse and the corticosteroid treatment made him scream through pressed together teeth until his torso and arms were looking like a mummy and his face was covered in huge, white plaster with thick compresses underneath. His buttocks and legs weren’t as badly messed up since he’d not washed them as thoroughly and – thank God – wasn’t stupid enough to use perfumed stuff in his crotch.  
  
When it was done and Filip had cleaned up, he got a fire going in the livingroom and made them both tea. A mattress had to serve as couch now, since it was the least painful option and Filip moved their telly and DVD so they could watch something without giving Ronea wryneck on top of everything else. When he saw the straw in his tea cup, he was about to protest, but realised immediately that he wasn’t really able to hold anything right now – and the prospect of a hot cup anywhere near his face was a terrible idea. At least his ass and thighs were good enough to sit on – on the softest pillows Filip could find in their house.  
  
“Are ye alright, baby? I mean, more than before?”  
“Yeah, it’s a lot better, Filip. Thank you.”  
“What should I put on?”  
“Anything without blisters in the plot.”  
“Angel Heart?”  
  
One of his favourites. Filip liked it just about okay, which made it so sweet of him to suggest it. Ronea nodded, even managed to smile.  
  
“That would be nice, baby.”  
  
They couldn’t snuggle as usual and it seemed stupid to drink tea from a straw, but overall things felt a little better.  
  
**Filip**  
The night had been unpleasant to say the least. Ronea woke up a lot from the stinging and itching and by morning, none of them had gotten enough sleep. Forntunately, it was a Saturday, and Filip was off work, but right now it didn’t feel like luck at all, only a wasted weekend. To make things worse, Ronea got a fever from the allergic reaction and felt miserable, so they had breakfast in bed.  
  
“I should’ve asked about the shower gel…”  
  
He almost sniffled over his coffee cup with straw and usually when Ronea fell down the pit of unreasonable self-blaming, Filip would be stern and remind him that he was being illogical, since it had a tendency to snap Ronea out of the bad thoughts a little faster. This morning, how ever, Filip just felt terribly sad for him and couldn’t make himself be stern. He dug up some grapefruit with his fork and carefully fed the mummy face.  
  
“Don’ blame yerself, baby.”  
“Made a scene over there…”  
  
Clearly, his husband needed to talk this through more and Filip had learned to read that kind of urge fairly well. It wasn’t really self-loathing or brooding, just a very understandable whining one had every right to after something like this. Not only had it been very stressful, but also socially awkward and embarressing – the exact opposite of what Filip had aimed for with the treatment. Such sharp turns had usually triggered self-harming a few years back and it was important to nip that risk in the bud.  
  
Filip fed him another spoonfull of the red fruit.  
  
“Having a panic attack an’ making a scene isn’t the same thing, Ronea. I mean, most people would freak out if they suddenly got fucking blisters all over. An’ I know t’was already difficult for ye to begin with… Jesus Christ, tha’ lobby…”  
  
Ronea laughed a little now, bending his head slightly backwards to avoid getting grapefruit juice running down his chin.  
  
“I felt like a complete goth hick, Filip. They looked at me as if they expected me to perform a satanic ritual or something, wondering where my pitchfork and pentagram were hidden.”  
  
They both laughed now. Filip loved his husband’s sense of humor and he took a sip of his own coffee.  
  
“An’ then a longhaired, scarred thug in leather enters. Ye should’ve seen their faces…”  
“Bet they thought you were there to enforce some questionable debt to a criminal MC gang. Or IRA.”  
“Hey, wha’ have I said ‘bout calling me Irish?”  
  
He was only teasing and Ronea just grinned through his wrapped face. It was a good sign, that he could joke some about it. But then, he got serious and sipped some coffee from the straw.  
  
“Filip?”  
“Aye, lovey?”  
“I know we have this rule about… not letting my panic attacks control where I can and can’t go, but… Please, I really, _really_ don’t want to go there again.”  
  
Ronea looked anxious now, pleading and it made Filip angry, not with his husband, but with how the rule that was supposed to help with panic attacks and social anxiety, sometimes still made Ronea think that it applied on _all_ anxiety provoking situations, regardless of how they’d turned out. Filip reached to stroke his hair, since he couldn’t touch the face or hands.  
  
“Darlin’, I dinnae even think o’ getting ye back there. They fucked up yer skin, baby. How’s tha’ a treat for ye?”  
  
His husband shrugged a little, meaning “you have a point” and Filip sighed.  
  
“Look, I know nothing ‘bout spa treatments, lovey. I jus’ looked up reviews an’ wanted to give ye the best I could. Hell, I even told’em on phone not to use mango an’ they fucked up. If I’d went outta tha’ shower looking like ye, I probably would’ve screamed tha’ fancy glass house down.”  
“In Scottish.”  
  
The teasing grin, partly hidden by the swathes, but Filip still loved it. Then, Ronea turned serious again.  
  
“I know you hate it when I say this, and I know that I shouldn’t think like this, but before that shower gel, even as I was looking forward to it, I felt increadibly guilty.”  
“Because o’ the money?”  
“That, and… the whole thing with… indulging myself. I’m sorry and I know this sounds like self-hatred and shit, but I can’t make myself feel like I deserve it.”  
  
While it was sign of progress that his husband was well aware of how an unhealthy thought process could affect him and reckognized it for what it was, it was clearly a lot more difficult for him to translate that logical thought to a nice, or at least neutral, feeling about himself. Filip refilled both their coffee cups.  
  
“As much as I get upset when ye say mean things ‘bout yerself, lovey, I’m really glad ye’re telling me how ye feel without talking yerself down.”  
  
It was almost painful to see how important that acknowledge was to Ronea. Filip sometimes forgot how distorted his man’s self-image had been – partly still was – and that even though he’d not went to or even needed therapy for several years now, some issues were still a daily battle, or at least skirmishes. It was in these moments it became clear that no matter how dead and buried Aaron Weston was, his words still gave echo.  
  
It had been twelve years since that night in the E.R. and nine since their wedding, but the wounds from Ronea’s past relationship had never fully healed and Filip didn’t expect them to. They’d gotten less sore, less noticable as the years had passed but Ronea had only been seventeen when that toxic relationship started and the evil bastard had done one hell of a job to crush him. Physically and psychologically. To expect the hurt to stop completely, was just foolish. It would be like denying the existance of four years in Ronea’s life.  
  
Filip smiled at him again.  
  
“We’re gonnae find out something else to make ye relax, lovey. Without mango or glass doors.”  
  
**Ronea**  
He felt utterly stupid and eternally grateful for being a homemaker with his husband away and no kids to look after. The idea of trying to do this with others in a studio was downright horrifying, but he had rules to follow for a reason and Ronea put the tape in the video and rolled out Filip’s old ground sheet on the floor.  
  
The girl on the tape was, of course, cute and with a body to die for, which made Ronea feel only more clumsy and shaggy in his anything but fancy outfit of old sweats, a tanktop and hair tied up in a messy bun. He’d rather had a joint and some more coffee, but rules were rules and at least he didn’t have an audience or allergenes to fuck it up this time. It had been a week since the encounter at the spa and while he still looked like he’d just recovered from a bad case of chicken-pox, it no longer hurt or even itched.  
  
Filip had been so increadibly patient and supportive since the spa disaster and as he’d not been able to give massages, the weird, sweet Scot had come up with the ridiculous idea of Ronea doing _yoga_. In fact, Ronea knew it was most certainly Venus’ idea, because there was no way in hell Filip would come up with something like that on his own, but he let Filip take the credit. And, as spa stuff was out of the question and Ronea was stiff as a board in his muscles, he could just as well try this yoga shit out and make Filip happy even if he felt like a fucking idiot.  
  
With a lot of skepticism, embarressment and more than a little annoyance, Ronea went through what was essentially 50 minutes of unpleasant discoveries about how stiff and inflexible he was, but he made the whole damn program, looking forward to the cup of coffee he’d fucking deserved after this stupidity.  
  
Afterwards, he felt just as stiff, only now with more ache in his joints, but it wasn’t too bad and the fact that he’d not had to be around people or even leave the house, actually made it feel like a real treat.  
  
Lying to his husband and only pretend he’d tried it was, of course, not an option, but Ronea was grateful that Filip only wanted to know if he had done it as promised. A simple yes or no without elaborations. Anything else was Ronea’s own decision to tell or not tell him about. The thing that made it easier to do the yoga exercises, was that it laid closer to something that was good for your physical health instead of something that was more of just a treat.  
  
Slowly, as the weeks went on and Ronea kept up the yoga practise, he started to add other “unnecessary” things to the routine. He got himself a proper yoga mat one week and the mid-morning coffee no longer was a five minute break by the countertop, but a little moment in peace and quiet in the garden or the couch.  
  
It became to feel easier to just sit down for a while in the afternoons as well, to curl up in his huge garden chair with a book and not get caught up in messy thoughts so easily. The breathing teqnique took time to learn, but it got better almost from one day to the next and Filip could see the progress too. And one Thursday afteroon when he was done with his work in the garden as well as dinner preparations, Ronea almost without thinking about it, stretched out like a cat on a blanket in the backyard and spent the hours until dinner without really doing anything at all. It didn’t hit him until late that night, while he rode Filip and scared the shit out of him with an orgasm so intense he almost lost balance in the process: he’d definitely learned how to indulge himself.


	93. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've talked about self-care and we've seen how Daddy helped Papi discover it years ago, so now it's time for Juice to give it a try, Papi style.

He’d just watch at first, as his morning meds started to set in and he’d also gotten an extra benso to help him through this first time. Papi maybe was no cat when it came to flexibility, but he sure as hell was way more lithe than his slightly chunky figure gave away. Juice sat on the floor diagonally behind him, leaning his back on the couch while watching. The perfect looking girl on the screen actually wasn’t the least jaunty or bent herself in impossible positions. The music was very serene but not religious or whale song or whatever.  
  
The excersise was gentle, slow and after a little while, Juice found himself intrigued by it. It looked quite nice, it didn’t make Papi sweat or breathless and about fifteen minutes in, Juice tried to join in a little. In his diaper and loose sweats, he felt anything but dressed for something like this, but he wasn’t in a gym, he was in Daddy’s and Papi’s livingroom and no one could see him.  
  
It looked easier than it was, as it had been such a long time since he’d done any real exercise apart from the daily stretching routine with Papi. When doing a position called Downward-Facing Dog, he felt his arms shaking a little and he started breathing faster.  
  
“Easy, baby boy… this is a relaxing position, let me show you. Go back on hands and knees first. That’s right, now your knees need to be directly under your hips, love. Yeah, tha’ts better. Now spread your fingers and turn your toes under… Good boy. Take a calm breath and… rise.”  
  
It was weird, but it didn’t make him anxious or too self-conscious and the strain wasn’t too much, especially as Papi was by his side all the time, helping him to adjust whenever he needed help. He could feel the tension and it wasn’t easy to focus, or remembering to breathe properly, but Papi had prepared him for that, which took away some of the worry.  
  
There was some pain, but he reckognized it easily as the good kind and since he wasn’t leading the workout himself, he couldn’t go full pelt as he’d done in the past. This was calm and gentle and some positions acually felt truly pleasant as the programme didn’t contain positions that challenged his balance. Cat and cow and then the child’s pose were all surprisingly nice for his back muscles. Whenver he couldn’t follow what the instructor did, Papi just helped him and when it was time for the last part, relaxation, or savasana as the instructor called it, Papi first put warm socks on them both, tucked a small pillown beneath the small of Juice’s back and spread a warm blanket over him.  
  
“Lift your head, baby boy…”  
  
Resting with his head on a pillow in Papi’s lap was probably not part of the programme, but it was so nice, felt so much safer and easier to relax without really doing anything when Papi held him. Juice closed his eyes and sort of still listened to the instructor, but mostly he just rested in the lap of the man who was his real instructor in so many things.  
  
Papi’s hands started rubbing his temples very softly.  
  
“This is the most difficult position, baby boy. _Savasana…_ Total relaxation… Letting go of all thoughts is not easy and you shouldn’t force it. It’s your first tome doing this, sweetheart, and you’ve done such a marvelous job… You want me to be silent with you, or talk some to you can follow my voice?”  
“Voice…”  
“Okay, my love.”  
  
Papi’s raspy voice was always soothing, and now it was positively serene, talking about things like trees and dogs and kittens, just describing how nicely a cat stretched out and purred, how a pup fell asleep on spot after a playtime.  
  
“Just doing exactly what their bodies need in that moment, baby boy… Soft, cuddly little furballs searching for a warm, nice spot to have a nap on, whenever they need it…”  
  
When the instructor’s voice came back, it was time to slowly wake up the entire body again. Wiggling on toes and fingers, making a cat stretch to the left and the right. Grabbing feet in the air in what was called Happy Baby Pose. Rolling a little onto his back, giving it some massage before Papi helped him to sit up again in Easy Pose which finished the programme. Papi still sat behind him as a back support and Juice leaned onto his chest, eyes still closed. When Papi started moving, Juice made a small whine.  
  
“Don’t… let go, Papi…”  
“I wont, baby boy, I’m just reaching for the remote so I can turn off the video and get some more soft music on. Okay?”  
“Kay…”  
  
The loss of Papi only lasted a moment and then Juice leaned back again and Papi wrapped the thick blanket around him. A sound of what seemed like some kind of metal and then some pouring broke through the music without interrupting it and then there was a cup against his lips.  
  
“It’s green peach tea, baby boy. Drink some, I’ll hold the cup. Then you just rest…”  
  
The warm beverage seemed to run through his entire body and the med had started working without him really noticing it. It was a way of exercising he’d never experienced. His body didn’t hurt from it, he wasn’t breathless or sweaty and his pulse wasn’t raised. Instead there was just calm and a very different kind of warmth spreading in his limbs. He wanted to ask Papi if he could lay like this for a little while longer, but before he could open his mouth and form the words, he’d drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story can bit a little bit frantic while still fucking SLOW, but I hope it's not too boring with all these small, small steps towards recovery. I promise I'm planning on getting some more smut in this story and - eventually - try and have Juice all "grown up" again, but I'm a sucker for detailed, slow progress, so I do apologise for this snail pace... <3


	94. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filip has a moment with his lad in the little cozy nest.

Coming home from work without getting any text or call about a problem with Juice during the day, was a blessing in it’s own. Filip kissed his husband and lover as usual, thinking that the lad seemed both a little sleepy but also more relaxed than usual. He wasn’t very chatty about the day though and while waiting for dinner to be ready, he laid down in his nest to cuddle up with his favourite pillow.  
  
Ronea had made Shepherd’s Pie for dinner and Filip thought he looked more beautiful than usual in his grey, loose-fitted pants and a wine-red, v-lined t-shirt who’s sleeves went to his elbows. He was preparing a salad as Filip snuck up from behind to hug him.  
  
“How’s my big lad doing today?”  
“Good, baby. Just tired.”  
“Aye, I can see tha’. Lil’ one was a handful?”  
“Not at all, he’s been an angel. Tried yoga.”  
“Really?”  
  
That was a surprise, not that the idea hadn’t come up, but they’d not really discussed a time to actually try it. Ronea tensed a little.  
  
“I… Did I break a rule, Filip?”  
“Christ, no! No, not at all, lovey. I was just surprised. Ye used tha’ old tape o’ yers?”  
“Yeah.”  
“How did it go?”  
“Far better than I’d dared to hope.”  
“Aye?”  
_“Aye.”  
  
_ The teasing of his accent earned Ronea a small pinch to his buttock and he just smiled. Filip smiled too and kissed the nape of his neck.  
  
“He liked it?”  
“Oh yeah. Wasn’t easy, but he did so well, baby, I wish you’d seen it. I think we should make it a regular thing, not every day, but maybe three times a week or so.”  
“Ye’re the expert on yoga an’ I trust yer judgment completely on this, Ronea. I’m so proud of ye.”  
“Does that mean I’m not getting disiciplined tonight?”  
  
No one on God’s green Earth could pout like Filip’s husband. Filip slid hid hands around his waist.  
  
“I’ll give ye everything ye deserve, lovey, I promise. Later.”  
  
And there was no blush like Ronea’s either.   
  
“Could you help Juice before dinner?”  
“Of course.”  
  
Filip left the kitchen and went to the corner known as Juice’s cozy nest.  
  
“Hey there, laddie.”  
“Hi, Daddy.”  
“S’almost dinner time, so do ye need a new nappy or sit on the potty?”  
“No, thank you, Daddy.”  
“Ye’re sure?”  
  
Juice didn’t answer, but looked a bit anxious and Filip sat down. Something was a little off with his lad this evening and it would be wise to trade gently. Filip made sure he had a calm smile and rested his hands in his lap.  
  
“Ye’re tired, Juice?”  
“Yeah… Yes, Daddy. Don’t… mean to… Sorry, I’m just like a seesaw today…”  
“Lovey, don’ apologies for being tired, please. In fact, _never_ apologies for emotions, lil’ one. As much as we’d like to, we cannae decide to have or not have them an’ having them isn’t the same as acting on them carelessly.”  
  
His sweet, young lover who these days was more of his nursling – not literally – than anything else, started crying, not like he’d been heartbroken again, but in a way of what Filip had learned to read as emotional exhaustion, not necessarily a bad one. He waved at Ronea to show he would deal with it alone and his husband left them alone and discretely moved his dinner making so he could turn his back on them. Filip bent his head a little.  
  
“Juicyboy… Ye want Daddy to remain outside like this, or would ye like a cuddle?”  
“Cuddle… please…”  
“Can I come inside?”  
  
Nod. Filip slowly moved into the pile of pillows and Juice curled up in his arms. The grip was hard, almost a little desperate, and while it wasn’t good that his boy felt like this, Filip couldn’t help but love the strenght and need in the way Juice held onto him. Quite often, Juice’s touches, even the most clingy ones, had seemed a bit restrained. The fear of rejection had always been there to some extent, but not now.  
  
Filip nuzzled the crook of his neck.  
  
“Missed ye all day, lil’one. Papi too, of course, but I’ve been thinking especially of ye.”  
  
More crying, arms heavy around his neck. Yep, the lad was completely exhausted. Had it been a normal day, Filip would’ve been a bit irritated with Ronea for not telling him, but they had very few normal days at the moment and his husband was no mind reader. Good day or not, their lil’ one wouldn’t be able to sit upright for dinner tonight. Filip rocked him slowly.  
  
“Daddy’s gotten himself a very tired lad tonight, hasn’t he, lil’ one?”  
“Should s-spank me, Daddy…”  
“Why’s tha’, lovey?”  
“F-feels better afterwards, Daddy.”  
“Oh, Juicyboy…”  
  
_My sweet lad. My lover. Lil’ one… Wee treasure of my heart…_  
  
Filip was about to cry too now, feeling his eyes squinting to stop it and he swallowed hard enough to make it hurt. Only then did he dare to look at his lad again. Those big, brown eyes were kryptonite and whileFilip knew Juice was physically fit to receive a decent bare bottom spanking, he wasn’t in the proper mental place for it. Filip kissed his forehead.  
  
“If I felt it would be the right thing, I would spank ye, Juice. Believe me, I’m not withdrawing spankings because I want to, laddie, but because ye’re still not in the right mindset for’em.”  
  
Juice sniffled a bit and looked up, much like a sad puppy.  
  
“Cause you think it’s wrong to spank kids and that… I’m still like a kid, right?”  
“In _some_ ways at the moment, aye, tha’s right.”  
  
Now the lad sighed, but snuggled in closer to Filip’s chest.  
  
“You’re like… the opposite of what I’m used to, Daddy. Or… _was_ used to.”  
“In wha’ way, lovey?”  
  
Another small sob.  
  
“Apart from, you know, the nuns, I’ve never been too small or too big for a spanking. Or slapping.”  
“There’s really no difference between those two things, lovey. Not when they’re done by adults to kids.”  
  
Juice let out what was close to an exasperated groan.  
  
“I don’t… _understand_ you, Daddy. You’re almost fifty, you should be the one telling _me_ how my generation is spoiled for not getting enough spankings.”  
“Well… not everyone feels the need to defend their parents mistakes or stupid bullshite, lovey. Spankings, no matter in which form, as a kid only made me scared, humiliated an’ pissed off. Only thing tha’ ever taught me, was how to lie an’ hide to avoid it. What _we_ have, me an’ Papi an’ ye, is entirely something else, lovey. An’ I simply don’ feel comfortable spanking ye when ye’re in this state of healing.”  
“But… you’re _Daddy_.”  
  
Filip looked at him, seriously now, and stroked his hair.  
  
“Aye, but I’m not yer _da_ or anything like yer _foster das_ , righ’ Juicy?”  
“You’re not, Daddy.”  
“Which means I will spank ye when ye’re _old enough to benefit from it_ again an’ not a day sooner. An’ had I ever been an actual da to anyone, I would’ve raised tha’ lad or lass entirely without spankings.”  
“Not if they’d been like I was as a kid.”  
  
God, the things people had done to the child this man once was… Filip pulled him close in a hug, rocking him again.  
  
“Ye know, Juicy, if my maw had come across ye as a wee lad or a cocky teen, she would’ve seen through all the dirty knees, bad degrees, raunchy language an’ ragged hair within seconds, lovey. Maw would’ve seen ye for wha’ ye were: a lost kid who’d learned not to trust people an’ jus’ tried to survive. A kid who dinnae need to be slapped or spanked, but hugged an’ listened to. I’m completely against spanking kids an’ nothing but a scientific proof of it’s benefits overruling it’s damages, will ever convince me otherwise. I’ve not yet seen tha’ proof, lad. Prisons, psychiatric clinics an’ street gangs as well as supposedly normal, well-functioning middle-class neighborhoods all have their share of people who are or have been suffering from abuse considered ‘normal’ or even beneficial. No one’s ever shown any evidence o’ how people being raised _without_ violence are more prone to violent an’ criminal behavior or more likely to suffer from the _lack_ of spankings.”  
  
He kissed Juice’s temple, feeling how the love he had for this man seemed to have him bursting from how helpless it made him feel.  
  
“I love ye so much, Juice, an’ I know tha’s still hard for ye to believe, but I love _all_ o’ ye, lil’ one. Every single bit, ye hear tha’? The drunken punk in my garden, the man bending over my knee, the lover in my bed, the wee one in the sling an’ the lil’ lad with nightmares, tummy troubles an’ binge-eating problems. I wan’ nothing more than for ye to heal in every way possible, for ye to show tha’ bright, defiant smile again an’ straddle my lap the way we both enjoy an’ for no other reason, but until we get there, I’ll still love ye jus’ the same, Juicyboy, an’ I’ll do my best to treat _this_ side o’ ye with the kind o’ love an’ care it needs.”  
  
He’d made quite the little speech, even if he’d not planned to, and now Filip cried in his lad’s hair, which he definitely hadn’t planned, but it had a strangely cleansing effect, like he’d poured out something he didn’t know he needed to say out loud. Juice didn’t seem upset by it either, but looked at Filip with a serious but slightly surprised expression on his sweet face. Then he reached he hand out and stroke Filip’s cheek.  
  
“You… you’re nothing like them, Daddy. You and Papi, you’re _nothing_ like them…”


	95. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronea gets disciplined - in a different way.

He could tell his husband had been crying. Not that Filip tried to hide it but Ronea didn’t like the twitch it made in his stomach. Ronea had never been a jealous person, which wasn’t surprising since he’d lived in a more or less open relationship for almost half his life. If you were prone to that kind of insecurity, polyamorous lifestyles weren’t for you and that’s why the feeling in his body felt so uncomfortably unusual.  
  
Whatever Filip and Juice had been talking about that made Ronea’s husband look like he was holding on by a thread, it wasn’t any of Ronea’s business unless they wanted to tell him. Feeling left out was fucking ridiculous, since their boy never planned on what to say or to which one of them. Juice’s fears, needs and struggles came out in a very unbalanced and messy way that left all three of them exhausted and that was exactly what Ronea was.   
  
He was finished setting the table, the Shepherd’s Pie  was cooling off on the counter and he went to upstairs to brush his hair a bit and wash up. As he looked in the mirror at his dresser, he could just see an aging face with too much stubble, bags underneath the eyes and hairlines creeping backwards. He tried to smile at the mirror but only managed a grimaze that looked hollow and so much alike how he’d used to smile when he was still with Aaron. The image was so unexpected and frightening, Ronea shoved his fist right at the glass.  
  
The crack was loud, he’d not realised how much force the movement had contained and Ronea just froze, staring at the now blooded knuckles and broken mirror. He could hear fast steps through the strange white noise the throbbing hand pulsed against his eardrum. How was that even possible, that he could hear it that loud? There wasn’t much blood, but it still fixated his eyes and there’d been a time when Ronea Telford-Tully never cried, never _ever_ until Aaron came to his _grand finale_ of the beating and took Ronea’s fingers, one by one, bending them so slowly it almost seemed like a game… Leah was hissing…  
  
“Ronea…? Husband?”  
  
_I’m your husband now, Mr. Telford, and the law can go fuck itself.  
  
_ Ronea was shaking now, as if having an ague and the breathing was speeding up, vision getting blurry and the flashbacks mixed with the now. How could he just stand here, doing nothing when his husband was home from work and hungry? There was a dinner to be served and Juice needed his Papi. These hands with the long sinced healed fractures had work to do.  
  
“Ronea!”  
  
His husband very rarely yelled and the sharpness of it snapped Ronea out of the mist in his head and back to his bedroom and the beloved dresser with a now cracked mirror. The realisation of what he’d done hit Ronea with full force and he looked at the image with horror and regret. Filip had given him this furniture and a pitiful sound rose inside Ronea’s throat as his husband very slowly walked up to him, like closing in on a wild animal.  
  
“Do ye reckognize me, Ronea?”  
_  
Aye, ye’re my husband, lovey…_  
  
“Husband…”  
  
The sound was now leaving his mouth and he could first see, then feel Filip’s hands onto his elbows.   
  
“Aye, t’is me, my love. Ye’re home, in _our_ bedroom, Ronea. Ye’re not back with Aaron, he’s dead an’ I pissed on his grave an’ ye set the flowers on fire. He cannae hurt ye anymore like he once did.”  
  
Ronea just stared at the mirror again.  
  
“I ruined it…”  
  
He’d ruined a precious gift from the who loved him, because he still couldn’t control his feelings over a more than twenty years old wound. Ronea pressed his undamaged hand to his stomach and Filip took the wounded one’s lower arm and made him walk to the bed.  
  
“Lay down, lovey.”  
“I don’t…”  
“Lay down, husband. _Now._ ”  
  
Firm, sometimes hard or disppointed. But never shouting or malicious. Ronea laid down and the world was still spinning some. Filip went back to the bathroom and Ronea closed his eyes when he returned with a glass of water, a wet towel and his first aid kit. The jar on the bedside was popped open.  
  
“Open yer mouth, husband.”  
  
Husband. Yes, he was a husband, and the one he’d married was popping a pill in his mouth, then bringing the glass to his lips.   
  
“Well done, lovey. Now lay still an’ lemme take care o’ yer hand.”  
“I don’t…”  
“I’m not asking, Ronea. I’m giving ye an order so I can take care o’ tha’ wound, an’ t’is _not_ negotiable.”  
“Juice… Where’s Juice?”  
“He’s downstairs in his nest an’ I ordered him to stay there an’ not worry unless I called for’im, so ye’re not gonnae worry ‘bout him now, Ronea.”  
“What if…”  
“Exactly which part o’ _ye’re not gonnae worry ‘bout him now_ was unclear to ye?”  
“None…”  
“Excuse me?”  
“No one, sir.”  
  
Filip was very stern now, strict as could be but instead of being intimidating, the harshness gave Ronea something to hold onto in this bleak moment. Filip held his hand and his dark eyes were firm and didn’t show a sliver of softness.   
  
“Juice knows he’s to trust me to handle his Papi an’ tha’ means dinner might get a lil’ late tonight. Ye’re staying righ’ where ye are, Ronea, an’ I’ll be back soon.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Waiting was an anxious doing and when Filip finally came back, Ronea’s heart started pounding faster and he could feel his stomach knot up again. His mouth was dry, he still felt dizzy and like he needed to throw up as he saw what his husband was holding.  
  
“F-Filip, p-please, I…  I mean… _sir_ …I…”  
  
He shouldn’t protest, he knew that, and Ronea started crying. He didn’t follow their protocol, didn’t kneel and maintained composure, but broke down sobbing before they’d even started. Filip rarely used the switch on him and it hurt as hell but dear Lord, it was fucking cleansing afterwards. Ronea couldn’t understand why it was so difficult just to kneel this time and he was crying into the coverlet as he tried – and clearly failed – to prepare himself for his weekly confession.  
  
He was prepared to be lectured about his behavior, but instead of sitting down on the bed, Filip went down on the floor too, not holding the switch, and pulled Ronea into his arms. It was completely unexpected but Filip shushed him gently.   
  
“Jus’ trust me, baby. Okay?”  
  
This wasn’t the correctional voice at all. It was time for his weekly spanking, wasn’t it? Filip cradled his body, nuzzling his neck.  
  
“Ronea, I wan’ ye to answer some questions now. Ye’re not gonnae question them, jus’ answer as truthfully as ye’re able to, okay?”  
“Y-yes, sir.”  
“Good. Where are we sitting righ’ now?”  
“O-our bedroom. On the floor.”  
“Tha’s right. An’ wha’ season is it?”  
“Spring.”  
“Which month?”  
“April.”  
“Is it day or night?”  
“Day. Evening…”  
“Aye. Where did I propose to ye?”  
“In… in your old apartment… after you’d spanked me for the first time and you… you complained I’d break your dick if you had to fuck me that much…”  
“Very good. Who’s our lover?”  
“Juice.”  
“Correct. Do ye have a cat?”  
“No.”  
“Did ye used to have one?”  
“Yes…”  
“Where’s she now?”  
“She… she’s dead. Aaron killed her.”  
“An’ who’s fault was tha’?”  
“His… His fault. Only his.”  
“So who deserves to be punished when all the shite he did comes back to ye, an’ who _doesn’t_ deserve it?”  
  
_I’ll give ye everything ye deserve, lovey, I promise._ Filip had never intended on spanking him tonight because he didn’t think that was what Ronea needed this time. Discipline, yes, but not in that form. Ronea just gave him a helpless look and tears started streaming again.   
  
“I ruined the mirror you gave me…”  
  
He sobbed into Filip’s shirt and got a kiss on his hair.  
  
“Baby, the frame’s not broken, nor’s the table. I’ll just take the measures an’ call the glazier first thing tomorrow morning, alright? S’just a mirror, Ronea, an’ whatever ye saw in it, it wasn’t yer fault for panicking. I’m really sorry if I scared ye with the switch, but I dinnae know another way to get ye back to the now. I wasn’t gonnae use it on ye at all, lovey.”  
“But I need a spanking, Filip.”  
  
His husband looked at him with that slightly sad smile and tucked a strain of hair behind Ronea’s ear.  
  
“No, darlin’, not righ’ now. I know ye feel like ye need it, but I say tha’ my overworked, emotionally drained husband needs cuddles, a foot rub an’ a glass o’ wine or two. An’ wha’ I say goes.”


	96. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are taking a turn for... well, who knows?

“I’m yer top, my lovelies, not a superhero.”  
  
Daddy was one of them rare people who never needed to raise his voice in order to be heard. He didn’t even look dominating or top-like right now, in his cross-legged position on the floor. He was very casually dressed now that he was home from work and the weekend began. Just an old tanktop and the most wornout jeans in his wardrobe, soft and threadbare ones Papi had forbid him to use outside home.   
  
Papi was sitting on his right side, Juice on his left and they formed a little triangle on the soft carpet. A fire was cracking and Papi had left the dishes from dinner and didn’t look like he was even thinking of it. He was sipping on a second glass of red wine and Juice couldn’t help but thinking that he looked nervous. Or maybe it was just his own feelings about this sudden change of their routine that tricked him. Daddy stroke his own hair backwards, still slightly wet from the shower.  
  
“I’m not saying this because I think _ye_ think I am, or to scold ye ‘bout anything. I guess I’m mostly… saying it aloud to remind myself. We’re all pretty smart people an’ don’ even _think_ of coming with protests on this one, ‘cause we’re not waisting time an’ energy on tha’ particular discussion righ’ now. I’m serious, lads. Is tha’ clear?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
“Excellent. Now, I wan’ ye both to be fully aware tha’ this lil’ moment together isn’t ‘bout blaming anyone. Not one another an’ _not ourselves_. Both o’ ye have an extra high tendency to slide down tha’ road when ye’re this tired an’ I tell ye righ’ now, tha’ no one, myself included, will be leaving this floor or conversation with those kind o’ thoughts lingering. Am I making myself clear?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
“Thank ye.”  
  
Daddy sighed, as if he’d held his breath in preparation for this little speech.  
  
“I love ye both tremendously an’ there’s nothing I wouldna do to keep ye safe an’ happy. I’m not gonnae lie an’ say tha’ yer struggling isn’t taking it’s toll on me, ‘cause I love an’ respect ye both too much to treat ye like ye’re too weak to handle the truth. I worry ‘bout ye, my darlings, day an’ night as it is righ’ now, because I can see, clear as day, how hard ye ‘re both fighting to handle this situation.”  
  
He took a deep swallow of his beer and looked at both Juice and Papi with his dark, pepperlike eyes.  
  
“I’m so proud o’ ye. Both o’ ye. I realise t’is not easy to try an’ see yer daily battles with yer problems as strenght, especially not when ye’re in the midst o’ it an’ it leaves ye bloody drained. I’m not gonnae pretend tha’ I can fully understand or even imagine how it is to live with tha’ fight, so I wont insult ye by trying. But wha’ I do wan’ to say, which I may not have said often enough, is tha’ more than jus’ being proud, I deeply fucking admire ye both. Ye, Ronea, ye’re my absolute rock even when ye’re feeling all drained an’ weak. I couldna be strong without ye an’ I couldna be _me_ wasn’t it for yer strenght an’ wisdom, yer love an’ support. An’ ye, lil’ one…”  
  
Now he nodded at Juice.  
  
“Ye, Juicy… Sometimes I feel completely helpless with ye. I find myself thinking: how on Earth am I ever to give my lil’ one wha’ he needs? How has he managed to not jus’ survive these terrible things tha’ happened to him, but turned into this loving, accepting person who gives so much o’ himself an’ don’ even see it?”  
  
Daddy shook his head.  
  
“A lot o’ people, Juicyboy, especially men an’ most _definitely_ men who’ve suffered abuse as children, will suppress their hurt at almost an cost, because the pain and shame are jus’ too great to handle in a world where we’re taught tha’ dealing with them is weakness. This, our relationship, has gone a very long way from jus’ a game an’ safe zone for exploration.”  
  
Now he made a small laugh.  
  
“When ye called me Daddy tha’ first time in yer apartment, Juice, a part of me got so bloody scared o’ how much I liked it, o’ how _right_ it felt, I almost ran away. I wasn’t appalled or even tha’ shocked tha’ ye said it, I’ve been called tha’ before on occasion, but I swear on all things holy tha’ I’d never ever felt wha’ I did with ye, with anyone before. I hope ye understand how I mean, Ronea?”  
“Of course, Filip. Juice and I are different people, after all.”  
  
Daddy nodded, now patting Papi’s knee.  
  
“Thank ye, dear.”  
  
He turned to Juice again and Juice felt a strange pull in his stomach. Something that wasn’t anxiety, not quite worry or nervousness, and for once it didn’t really bother him that he couldn’t name it.  
  
“Juicyboy…”  
“Yes, Daddy?”  
“My sweet lad… Ye’ve mostly been a _boy_ for a very long time now an’ I know ye’ve needed it an’ still do. It doesn’t really matter to me _why_ this has turned out to be the way for ye to start healing or exactly where the kink stops an’ yer truly Little part begins. But I do realise, although I cannae understand how it truly feels, tha’ it’s sometimes really hard for ye to maintain tha’ balance. I guess, based on how I’ve seen yer progress, ups an’ downs for a quite long time now, tha’ while being Little with us is key for yer recovery, to help ye dealing with emotions instead o’ shutting down, there’s also a quite huge risk for Grown-up Juice to feel unbearably humiliated by this need.”  
  
He didn’t want to cry, but Daddy’s words hit where it hurt the most and Juice could feel that old lump in his chest and throat, the one he used to choke with food and then throw up, or work away with codes, fuck into silence with casual sex, burn off on the treadmill or even try and drive away from on nightlong rides on low-traffic roads, speed limits forgotten because the only thing that could make his heart beat faster than the unnamed anxiety, was complete recklessness into fucking oblivion.   
  
He could feel Daddy’s hand on his knee now, Papi’s too on the other and Juice cried. It was a very slow, almost tardy crying, not wild and uncontrolled. It wasn’t commented, just accepted as a part of the situation as Daddy and Papi so often used to do with tears. They just were.  
  
He cried and cried, couldn’t even begin to define the feelings, but it was as if Daddy’s talking had made it less scary not to understand what was causing the tears. He was handed a tissue and in that moment it reminded so much of how Daddy did it after a spanking. That absolute respect for whatever feeling Juice needed to get out, no right or wrong, no shame and no rejection. Just forgiveness, love and so much _time_ that was just for him.  
  
Juice hadn’t fully realised how much he missed the spanking routine and how crucial it had been to  his slowly developing capacity of opening up at all. As he sobbed, his entire body just shaking from it, it came to him how he probably hadn’t been able to even give an opinion, much less sharing a true feeling with either of his lovers without the spankings. Without them, retreating to a _little_ state was the only way to feel enough humiliation and weakness and over and over receive proof of how that was not only okay to act out, but worthy of care and – as contradictory and illogical as it sounded – respect. Because Daddy, unlike all the foster dads Juice had lived with, or even Daddy’s own father, didn’t believe in spanking kids and therefor had stopped to use that on _Little_ Juice, instead using other tools to allow him to feel that weakness.  
  
His stomach was rumbling, the world felt dizzy and Juice grabbed Daddy’s hand.  
  
“Go-gonna… I need a…”  
  
The suddenly empty flowerpot took a second too long and some landed on the floor before Papi got the earthy bowl in place. Juice’s insides were exploding, at least it felt like it, and he couldn’t stop it. He filled the bowl, filled his diaper, just lost control so completely he could just as well have been squeezed out of his body.  
  
“Stop… Just… STOP IT! Shut up, you… you don’t… I… You’re ruining _everything_ , Daddy and I… I _hate you!_ I was… This wasn’t what we… I HATE YOU, DADDY! You hear me, you motherfucker?! I FUCKING HATE YOU, DAD!”


	97. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The predator and the prey...

He’d meant every word, still meant them no matter what his lad was screaming at him.   
  
_I fucking hate you, dad._  
  
Dad. Not daddy. _Dad_ as in one or several foster dads who’d let a kid down over the years. A kid who was still hiding from them, still trying to protect the wounds and pretend he didn’t need the love and care he’d been taught he didn’t deserve. It was more than a panic attack and Filip realised he had no other word he found suitable either. He’d meant for Juice to open up, to share his emotions even if it was scary, but he’d never intended on scaring his young lover into this pit of complete and utter fear.  
  
Juice was panting, a burbling sound as he tried to fight the nausea and his monsters at the same time. There was blood coming from his nose, mixing with the pukes and the smell of feces and whatever barrier that had been accidently unlocked by Filip’s words, it hadn’t opened up as much as it had been demolished and now Juice was curling up in the figurative ruines of it, howling like an animal caught in a deadly trap.  
  
Sweat was forming on his skin, wet spots showing on his clothes and he looked feral, like he’d been thrown out of his normal surroundings and violently thrown into a completely different world where nothing was secure or familiar anymore. Filip hoped his voice was steady.  
  
“Wha’s yer name for me, Juicyboy?”  
  
There was only what Filip would call a hiss and he forced himself to look into the almost wild eyes in front of him.  
  
“Am I dad or _daddy_ , Juice? Can ye tell the difference?”  
  
He wouldn’t say it looked like Juice was about to answer, but the feral gaze seemed to at least stop intensifying. His stomach was clearly still twisting and the pain must be horrible, but right now the fear was overruling it. Who did his tormented lad see before him right now? Filip remained where he was, didn’t even dare to look at where Ronea was, afraid of breaking the contact he still had with his lil’ one.  
  
“Wha’ did _dad_ do to ye, Juan?”  
  
He deliberately used Juice’s given name and the lad startled a little but remained in his very tight and stiff position. A wounded, feral cat trapped in a corner, too weak to run off but still able to use it’s claws if necessary. Juice was weaker than he’d used to, but pushed to his limits and scared out of his wits, there was a very possible risk of things to turn violent and actually dangerous.  
  
“Dad hurt you in more than one way, didn’t he, baby boy?”  
  
The sound of Ronea’s voice, impossibly calm and soft, yet cutting through the room, impossible to miss, had Juice open his mouth, but there was no sound coming out. Ronea moved closer now, on his knees, and made sure to sink as low as possible to come down to Juice’s crouched level.   
  
“Dad watched you getting hurt and then he punished you for it too. Hit you, called you names, shaved your head… He knew another man hurt you and didn’t help.”  
  
The whimper was pitiful and… Oh, God. _No… no, no, no, that was…_ _It couldn’t…_ Filip felt his own stomach squeeze tight, only not loosing control of it. The image was vivid. There’d not been _one_ rape, the one Juice had barely dared to mention, but another one while he was still a teen. It hadn’t been a twisted nightmare mixing up places and people, that night Juice had mentioned that particular foster dad’s name. This Orson had watched his foster son getting raped and not helped. Filip recalled what Juice had rambled in the midst of the nightmare so many weeks ago:  
  
_I didn’t want it! He-he’s hurting me, Orson… Please, help me…  
  
I fucking hate you, dad!_  
  
Because _Dad_ had beaten, starved, shaved and humiliated him. Perhaps even… watched him getting raped, to teach that useless foster kid what happened to fucking fags. Filip wanted to throw up, Ronea looked positively green and Juice had curled up in the smallest roll possible, as if trying to protect his insides and the sensitive genitals by pressing his knees onto his chest.  
  
Filip no longer felt the different smells of body fluids. They all melted together into one single stench akin to the one from a poorly handled wound that had started to rot under the bandage. His palms were sweaty and he needed to calm down. Maybe _Dad_ hadn’t watched it happen, but found out about it and then punished him, which in Juice’s tormented mind had melted into the rape itself. It didn’t makethe actual rape or _Dad’s_ punishment any less cruel and diabolical, but it must be at least slihtly, very fucking slightly, easier to bear than if Dad had actually seen it all happen without intervene. Things got very mixed up in nightmares and panic attacks, that was the nature of them.  
  
He swallowed.  
  
“Juicyboy? Is it okay for ye to look at me a little?”  
  
Filip used the softest, least threatening or demanding voice he could muster, and after a long moment of small hickups and pantings, his lad managed to look up from his knees. He was positively drenched in sweat, pupils dilated so much the irises seemed to have disappeared and the face so pale he looked like he could pass out at any moment. Filip tilted his own head and kept his distance.  
  
“Do ye reckognize me, lil’ one?”  
  
Juice didn’t answer, just crouched lower down, breaths almost akin to small hisses. A small animal, frozen in terror, unable to move away from it’s predator.   
  
“Where are ye righ’ now, sweet lad? Do ye see Orson Dad here?”  
  
A whimper, eyes still magnified, but at least the lad looked around, the gaze was moving a little and then he shook his head. Filip smiled.   
  
“Ye don’ see’im, right? I don’ see’im either, Juicy. Do ye see’im, Ronea?”  
“No, I don’t.”  
  
Filip nodded at Juice.  
  
“See? He’s not here. Do ye reckognize Papi?”  
  
Eyes moving again, first a little twitchy, then stopped to meet Ronea’s gaze. Ronea gave his soft smile, sitting still but relaxed to not startle his boy.   
  
“I’m here, baby boy. Papi’s sitting right here and there’s no Orson Dad here. He’s never coming back, my little love. Your painful memory is playing a trick on you, Juice. Papi and Daddy would _never_ let Orson Dad or anyone else hurt our beloved little baby boy ever again.”  
  
A small sound now, a visibly painful breath and the nosebleed formed bubbles, splatted a little on Juice’s hand and the lad looked down on it. The next second, he passed out.


	98. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospitals may feel scary for many people, but Ronea has a different view.

Most people didn’t like hospitals. The sterile surroundings, long corridors and that silence that often hung over waiting rooms filled with strangers, no matter how many sounds that actually moved through the air, had an ominous scent to it. Life and death in a clinical version of dogfights. Ronea more than well understood the distress, he’d had it himself often enough in the past, but ever since his first meeting with Filip, he had a different connection to these surroundings.  
  
“How are ye holding up?”  
  
Filip handed him a mug of too weak coffee that Ronea gratefully accepted. They didn’t use pet names in a place this public and Ronea took a sip before looking up.  
  
“I’m… functioning.”  
  
Ronea had never really lied to Filip in extremely stressful situations, not even when they’d first met over five broken fingers and two blackeyes. It had always seemed so pointless, trying to fool the man who somehow just knew when Ronea wasn’t telling the truth. And right now, Ronea definitely not felt okay or alright or anything like it, so he wouldn’t even try and fool himself by saying he was.  
  
When Juice passed out, Ronea had panicked, truly fucking panicked and he had no idea how the hell Filip had managed to get them all into the truck and to the E.R. or how long time the whole procedure took from the moment Juice fell down with fluids coming out in almost all openings to when the medics had taken his baby boy away on a transport stretcher down the hallway and through doors Ronea and Filip couldn’t enter.  
  
Juice hadn’t stopped breathing, that was what made Ronea able to actually sit down right now. He looked at the cup with the sludge that was supposed to be coffee.  
  
“Did we just make everything worse, Filip?”  
“I don’ know, lovey.”  
  
They didn’t use pet names in a place like this, except when they did. Ronea liked hospitals because without one, he’d been dead in more than one way. Hospitals weren’t places where you went to die, but hoped to have a chance to live. The broken body had been more alive than his heart and mind that night so many years ago. It had been a sad but also soothing realisation, the day he’d finally come to terms with the fact that healing in his case was an ongoing process that most likely would never finish. That didn’t mean it was pointless.  
  
Ronea sipped on the so called coffee, more to keep himself occupied than anything else. The sounds Juice made just before passing out, had reminded a bit of a coffee perculator’s chewing and Ronea couldn’t stop himself from wondering if that was how Juice had sounded when he’d gotten raped. He didn’t remember how he’d sounded when Aaron raped him, only that the pain of so many different stimulations had completely drowned him.  
  
He’d never been able to use cuffs anymore after that. He’d tried to, only to turn the PTSD on high alert and end up scared out of his wits. He’d felt at least something akin to Juice’s pain in his own body and mind, just as Filip had once been tormented by nightmares, blurry visions, imaginary stalkers and even the neon signs and pulsing noises from disco bars. Anyone could carry a hidden knife and once again mistake him for someone else, maybe not just mark but actually kill him this time.   
  
Ronea closed his eyes, only to see his own livingroom before him. There’d not been much blood, but mixed with the pukes and the diarrhea, the sweat literally pouring from Juice’s skin, it had looked like he was being physically teared apart. A monster clawing its way out, desperate and raging after years in tight lockdown. Filip had held him swirled in a blanket in the backseat, just making sure his airways were kept open as he’d been talking to someone on 911 on speaker and Ronea tried to keep calm while driving.  
  
There’d not been any time to wipe Juice’s off or getting him out of the soiled pants and diaper. Once Juice had disappeared with the medics, a nurse had taken Filip to a restroom to help him wipe off some of the stains Juice had left on him. They’d not thought about getting jackets with them and as a result, a few people now threw curious looks at the tattooed man with, among others, a reaper on his left arm and the symbol for anarchy on his right, now visible thanks to the tanktop. An armour of ink to cover the most gentle heart Ronea had ever known. The reaper not standing for a love of death and destruction, but for not fearing it. The anarchy as a reminder of how no one could ever remain in complete control.  
  
“Can you please be quiet? There are other people here.”  
  
Ronea’s thoughts were interrupted by an annoyed voice, an old man who seemed to be waiting for his or his wife’s turn, and now was irritated by a crying girl who couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. She had her arm in an angle that told her shoulder was dislocated and perhaps broken too. Her mom looked embarressed, and tried to pretend she’d not heard the man, when Filip’s calm voice cut through the air.  
  
“The lass has a dislocated shoulder an’ it’s bloody obvious ye have no idea how much tha’ fucking hurts, old man. How about showing a lil’ sympathy instead o’ being an arsehole while also embarressing yer poor wife, aye? I’ve seen grown arse men twice her size howl fucking walls down from tha’ kind o’ injury, so if anyone’s supposed to shut the fuck up here, it’s ye. Jesus _Christ_ …”  
  
The man did shut the fuck up. In fact the whole waiting room did for a moment, even the crying girl, and her mouth was a small o for the split of a second before the pain hit again and she made a little sob. Her mother held her good hand and then looked at Filip, gratitude momentrarily taking over her distress.   
  
“Thank you.”  
“Jus’ normal decency, ma’m. Something some people in this room seem to lack.”  
  
Few people were able to stand the Filip Telford branded look of utterly despise for more than a second and the old man was no exception. He wisely kept his mouth shut and his wife’s previously slightly pale face was crimson red from embarressment. Ronea looked at the girl with the dislocated shoulder and winked. She’d clearly appreciated Filip’s little speech and while the pain was still excrutiating, she actually smiled too, as did her mother.  
  
“Filip and… Ronea?”  
  
A nurse had shown up in the room and Ronea’s little moment of pride vanished as they both rose to follow the man in scrubs. His husband was his hero, yes, but a very human one and this particular anarchy was something not even FilipTelford could just ride out.


	99. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice is lost in deep waters...

His mind was floating. Memories, thoughts and dreams all moving together in a great messy pool, not swimming or moving by themselves anymore, but just rocked together like seaweed that had been dug up from the bottom and now moved through the water without any force or will of their own. It wasn’t sleep, no feelings seemed to be there either, just a no mans land between rest and wake.  
  
Through the slivers of his eyes, he could see vague contours of various objects. Floor. Tube. Four fuzzy legs on a stool. Juice moved his head and met something soft. A blurry pattern in green and blue. The smell of laundry soap and sweetness.   
  
“Papi…?”  
“I’m here, baby boy.”  
  
The voice was blurry too.  
  
“You’re… swimming with me too… Papi?”  
“I’m with you, my little love. Papi’s right here with you, sweet baby.”  
“Wanna…”  
  
Steel met his hand as he tried to move it, hard and cold despite the fuzzy contours and he whined out, weak and low.  
  
“H-hold me…”  
  
Hands took his but that wasn’t enough and Juice whined again.  
  
“No…”  
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”  
“ _Hold_ me, Papi…”  
“Baby boy, Papi’s not allowed to right now. You’ve gotta lay down and still for a while, Juicy. But I’m right here with you, my little love. I’m not leaving you.”  
  
A kiss on his hair, soft finger stroking his cheek and the world was still floating. He pulled in a breath, little too hard, and the familiar homey smell of the soft fabrics mixed with another, slightly sharper scent. Something black next to the green and blue. Engine grease and tobacco.  
  
“Daddy…?”  
“He’s here too, baby boy. Just talking to the doctor outside.”  
“Doctor…?”  
“You’re at the hospital, angel.”  
  
The vision started to clear a little and now Juice could see the black item better. A t-shirt. Daddy’s plain, black t-shirt, carrying his scent and Juice instinctively rubbed his nose against the black, green and blue softness, only to cry out from sudden pain.  
  
“Easy on your nose, baby boy.”  
“B-blood…”  
“Yes, you had a nosebleed earlier but it’s stopped now. You’re nose might be a bit sore for a while, though, but you’re no longer bleeding. Try and be still, love. It’ll help if you can rest.”  
“Wanna… wan’ you to… to hold me, Papi… Better…”  
“Oh, Juicy… Papi can’t do that, he’s not allowed to. The doctor says I can’t yet, even if I want to. And I _do_ want to hold you, my little love. Papi would like nothing more than to scoop up his sweet Juice in his arms and never let go, but if I do that now, you will get more hurt and Daddy will get very disappointed that Papi didn’t obey the doctor like Daddy told him to.”  
“Daddy told…”  
  
If Daddy told Papi not to take Juice up from the pool, then Daddy was mean but Papi still had to obey. As had Juice. It didn’t help with the floating feeling or the pain, but being reminded of the rule gave him something to sort of hold on to. Papi’s mouth was now on his forehead, placing a kiss before sliding over to his hair, the feeling was soothing.  
  
“Yes, baby boy, Daddy told me to obey the doctor’s orders, so that our baby boy can get better. But if you want to, Papi can sing to you.”  
“Y-yeah… P-please…”  
“Alright, my little love.”  
  
Papi couldn’t hold him in his arms, but now he moved closer and laid his head above the pillow, putting his arm very lightly across Juice’s chest and the low voice sent warm air onto his scalp as Papi sang.  
  
“Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way. Awaken from a quiet sleep, hear the whispering of the wind. Awaken as the silence grows, in a solitude of the night…”  
  
Anchoring. He was still floating, but Papi there with him now, floating too.   
  
“Darkness spreads throughout the land and your weary eyes open silently. Sunsets have forsaken all, the most far off horizons… Nightmares come when shadows grow, eyes close and heartbeats slow. Fear not this night, you will not go astray. Though shadows fall, still the stars find their way. And you can always be strong, lift your voice with the first light of dawn…“  
  
Papi wouldn’t let him float away alone, he didn’t let go.  
  
“Dawn's just a heartbeat away… Hope's just a sunrise away…”  
  
The singing didn’t stop, Papi kept humming the melody and the warmth from his breath was there, just as his arms, his scent and it carried Juice over the passage to sleep, just like a soothing wave rocking a small boat to safe shores. 


	100. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've used BD Wong's character Dr. George Huang from Law & Order: Special Victim's Unit for Juice's E.R. doctor, simply because I love both the character and the actor. It's not super important for this story that you know who this actor or character is, but I sometimes find it really difficult to make original characters and especially if they're just minor ones I'd rather not spend too much time making them.
> 
> You really don't have to have watched L&W: SVU to make sense of "my" Dr. Huang, but if you wonder about this character, you can watch this clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnow7G51vTo
> 
> In L&W: SVU, Dr. Huang is a psychiatrist, in my story, he's an E.R. medical doc, but I chose him as a model for my doc, simply because he has so much compassion and such a calming way of being. Oh, and for some reason he's bald in my story. I don't know why, it just happened.

Had he been able to even think about it, Filip wouldn’t have counted on a doctor who’d show respect let alone sympathy for their little family, but there’d not been any time for preparations of that kind – or to mince the words.  
  
Dr. Huang was a short man around Ronea’s age or a little younger, already bald and like many middleaged men therefore shaved entirely instead of letting the naturally formed tonsure stay. Filip told about the whole episode with a numb voice, just focused on getting the facts right without letting his own feelings about sharing some of the intimate details of his and his husband’s relationship with Juice.  
  
He was prepared for suspicious and disapproving looks, a partly hidden tone of disgust or at least despise beneath the professional appearance, but the bald little doctor just listened, nodded sometimes and took some notes with a surprisingly neat handwriting. Filip sighed.  
  
“We’ve met with our family doc an’ a psychiatrist she recommended, but this… t’is jus’ way over our heads an’ we probably should’ve gone in earlier, but…”  
“Mr. Telford, your partner is an adult and very few people know when it’s necessary to step in and more or less take over. It would have been better, had Juan Carlos…”  
“Juice. Everyone call’im Juice, doc. Or Ortiz.”  
“Juice, then. I do agree that it would have been better for Juice to receive more intense professional help earlier, but from what you tell me, from what I can see in Juice’s medical records and from his current condition, is that despite this horrible experience, you and your husband have made a truly extraordinary effort here that would’ve been impossible in a psychiatric ward.”  
  
The doc smiled a little, perhaps at Filip’s surprised look. At least Filip presumed he had one.  
  
“I don’t have any personal opinions on your choice of lifestyle as long as it doesn’t make Juice feel worse. I’m not gonna presume it does, unless I have actual evidence to proove it. I’m an advocate for science and thorough evaluations, Mr. Telford. Too many prejudices steal time and efforts I’d rather use to help my patients.”  
  
Filip nodded. He was honestly impressed.  
  
“Ye’re an open-minded man, doc. I appreciate tha’. So… how bad did I fuck up?”  
“Well, first of all, you didn’t necessarily fuck up just because you had to come here. He has no previous history of brain damages, psychosis, personality disorders or heart problems, so if he had suffered from any of those conditions right now, you would’ve had no chance knowing it, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
“But, as I told you and your husband earlier, your partner shows no signs of abnormal heart rhythm, no swelling of the brain, no blood cloths, no airway problems and no loss of brain activity. He’s very cramped, but that’s most likely an outcome from the panic attack. Whatever happened, Mr. Telford, it doesn’t fall on you.”  
  
If he’d been Ronea, a good spanking would’ve dealt with the guilt, but Filip wasn’t him and had never felt any kind of relief from that kind of treatment. He would just have to deal with this weight until he could have a heart to heart with his husband, who hopefully could tell him to stop wallowing and be the top and protector he’d promised to be. He laced his fingers, mostly to stop them from fidgeting, but in a way that made him appear calm. Filip wasn’t sure whom he was trying to fool and he looked at the doctor.  
  
“Lad’s scared, doc. Cannae leave’im alone here. I know there are rules ‘bout visitors, but… look, he’s been left alone too much already an’ I don’ think he can handle it now.”  
“Can _you_ handle it, Mr. Telford?”  
  
He wasn’t prepared for that question but it would never occur to Filip to lie about it.  
  
“Cannae handle hurting him, doc. If he thinks I’ve abandoned him… No, I cannae handle doing tha’ to him. Juice has been abandoned plenty before an’ no, I don’ think I could bear being one of those people, even if it would be in his mind only. An’ we have a… very special kind o’ relationship people might misunderstand so if he calls for us an’ we’re not here, ye’d get the wrong impression o’ us. Well, I guess ye an’ other staff would get the wrong impression regardless.”  
“You mean they’d look down on you for Juice’s nicknames for you and your husband?”  
  
Filip felt himself flush and he could only nod now. The doctor didn’t sound disgusted or condescending though, didn’t look like he judged them either, or approved. Neutral.  
  
“I understand that fear, Mr. Telford, and I can’t promise that my entire staff wont care about it or approve, but it’s, frankly, none of our damn business how consenting adults choose to live their lives and no matter what anyone here might think of it, it wont affect the way we treat Juice or you. He’s our patient, you’re his next of kin and that’s how we’re seeing you.”  
“Don’ ye mean, how ye’re supposed to see us? In the best of worlds.”  
  
Dr. Huang nodded slowly and it almost, almost seemed like he actually sympathized and not just didn’t judge.  
  
“I take it that all three of you have good reasons for not anticipating the best of worlds.”  
  
Filip made a snorting laugh.  
  
“Ye could say tha’, aye.”  
“If I may ask, Mr. Telford, how long have you and your husband lived together?”  
“Been married for over twenty years, together for… well, about twentythree. Soon twentyfour. Married while it was still illegal, so it doesn’t count, I know…”  
“It counts for you. Twentyfour years is a long time and the nineties might have been better than the eighties, but I realise it can’t have been easy.”  
“Ye’re right ‘bout tha’, doc. Guess a lot o’ people prefer to spend a whole lotta time on making others feel bad ‘bout being happy, instead o’ makin’ their own miserable lives better.”  
  
The doc gave a small, slightly sad smile, but his eyes were kind. Truly kind.  
  
“I can’t promise you wont face prejudices or even bad treatment wherever Juice will be sent after the evaluation, or even try and find collegues I know, or at least am pretty sure wont judge you, Mr. Telford.”  
“I certainly dinnae expect ye too, doc.”  
“What I _can_ do, how ever, is to be your… how to say, special contact.”  
“Special contact?”  
“When Juice is remitted to another ward for more extent treatment, which I’m afraid really is the only sensible thing to do in this case, I will act as his as well as yours and your husband’s personal contact in case you’re feeling mistreated or harrassed in any way due to the form of your relationship. ”  
“Tha’… would be extremely helpful, doc. Thank ye, I…”  
  
He wasn’t sure what more to say, only that it suddenly felt like some of the weight had miracurously fallen off. There was one more thing, though.  
  
“Wha’ ‘bout now? May we stay with’im? At least until he’s more aware o’ himself an’ his surroundings?”  
“If you can manage sleeping in a chair and don’t make it difficult for us to do our job, then you can both stay for now. I would reckommend for one of you to get home and pack a bag, though, and get a shower. And foodwise, we can’t offer you patient meals, but you’re allowed to bring snacks in. Just make sure it’s as safe as possible and I suggest you split up for this, taking terms to get out and fix this. How does that sound?”  
“Good. Really good, doc. I… Thank ye, I…”  
  
Apparantly he had used up all his words for now and the doc handed him a tissue.  
  
“I know, Mr. Telford. Now lets focus on getting your partner better.”


	101. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to handle Mama Bear...

“Ye need to rest.”  
“No. No, Filip, I really don’t.”  
  
He wasn’t leaving his now sleeping boy unless he was forced out by cops and for once the vows Ronea had made to Filip didn’t matter one bit. The instinct, the absolute need to protect Juice was taking over and there was nothing Filip could do or say to change his mind. Right now, Juice wasn’t his adult partner in good hands of professional medics, but Ronea’s little cub in need of his figurative nurturer.  
  
Ronea tensed as Filip put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Ronea, lovey, relax. I said ye need to _rest_ , not _leave_.”  
  
A kiss on his hair, hand carefully squeezing a little.  
  
“I’ve talked to the doc, baby. We can stay for now, both o’ us.”  
“We can?”  
  
He looked up from his spot at his sleeping baby’s nape, turning slightly to have a look at his husband.  
  
“How did…? What on _Earth_ did you bribe him with?”  
“No bribes or threats, lovey. Jus’ the truth. He’s a good man. Gotta make some arrangements though an’ we both need to get home, one at the time, jus’ for an hour or so, to have a shower and change clothes. T’is the best he can do, lovey, an’ we’re not helping Juice if we stop maintaining our hygiene. We’re getting an extra chair too, so we can get some sleep. An hour, lovey, to fresh up while I stay here. Ye can handle tha’.”  
  
He was so surprised he didn’t know what to respond, and frankly just too tired to think at all now as it was clear that he could stay with his baby boy. Well, apart from that hour, but it made sense. Filip kissed his forehead.  
  
“How about ye make a list o’ what we need from home an’ store, an’ let me hold the lil’ one for a while, aye? Then ye can take the first leave an’ go home an’ I’ll take care o’ the shopping once ye’re back. Alright, lovey?”  
“Yeah, that’s… that sounds good, Filip. Sorry about my…”  
“No apologises, Ronea. There’s no need, not in this situation, so don’ burden yerself with guilt. We’ll deal with all those things later on, I promise. Righ’ now, we gotta focus on Juice an’ we cannae do tha’ if we’re exhausted from neglecting ourselves.”  
  
Calm and reason. Filip was strong for them both, for all three of them, when Ronea couldn’t. He leaned into his husband’s chest, as best as he could manage from the awkward angle without letting go of Juice.  
  
“What did he say? I mean… about Juice.”  
“Well… that we shouldn’t feel guilty an’ tha’ he’s cramped, but from psychosomatic reasons, not any heart problems or strokes or anything like it. An’ when they’ve done what they can here an’ Juice is transmitted to a ward for extented care, Dr. Huang promised to pull some strings, but he cannae promise anything. Still more than we could’ve expected, so… please try an’ keep some o’ yer mama bear instincts in a tight leash, lovey.”  
“I’ll do my best, for you and Juice.”  
  
Filip kissed his crown.  
  
“I know ye will, lovey. Ye’re my rock, Ronea.”  
“Always, Filip. Always.”


	102. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A white lie is sometimes of need.

Soft, cuddly things. He’d always liked them, perhaps a little too much for a guy. Blankets, fluffy pillows, washed out clothes and teddies. Mr. Bunny had been his bed buddy for a long time and the nightmare replaying the sequence of Mr. Cruz throwing him in the open fire unfortunately hadn’t become any less terrifying with time, even if the time between them had increased as he’d grown older and the moment before his brain caught up from nightmare to reality had become shorter.  
  
Juice didn’t have a nightmare now, though and he moved a little in his sleep. He’d bought a bunch of small pillows early on, when he got his own place. Discovered as decoration, he’d gotten an adult version of teddies: arm pillows to snuggle in bed. A warm plush blanket was acceptable too. The item in his arms, how ever, wasn’t a pillow or a blanket. He snuggled into it, still asleep, the increadibly soft thing that somehow smelled a bit like Papi and Daddy, but also not.   
  
Hands adjusted the sheets and stroke his cheek, his hair and Juice tensed a moment before he reckognized the touch.  
  
“Daddy…?”  
“Aye, lil’ one. T’is me, Juicyboy. Daddy’s here, everything’s alright.”  
“Papi…?”  
“Papi’s in the bathroom, laddie, but he’ll be back soon. Daddy’s still here, darlin’.”  
“Daddy’s here…”  
“Aye, Daddy’s here, Juicyboy.”  
“Juicy’s tired, Daddy…”  
“I know, lil’ one. But ye’re getting some rest now, so ye’ll get better.”  
  
The soft thing in his arms had a shape that wasn’t a pillow and Juice nuzzled it again, clutching onto it, feeling the… yes, it was… He took a deep breath.  
  
“B-bunny… M-m-mr. _Bunny._ ”  
  
His best friend was back! How was that possible? Had he escaped from the fire? Juice forgot all abut Papi not being there as he cried into the plush.   
  
“H-how d-did…?”  
“Papi found him, lil’ one. He was pretty roughed up, so Papi said Mr. Bunny had to get some help with new fur an’ a lil’ surgery. So he might look an’ smell a bit different, lovey. But it’s absolutely Mr. Bunny, in a new shape. He’s missed Juan... an’ I tol’ him we call ye Juicy nowadays. So… ye have a new name an’ he’s got a new fur, darlin’.”  
“Mr. Bunny’s back…”  
  
Juice curled around his friend, like a small roll with Mr. Bunny hidden between his legs and stomach.   
  
“Careful, lovey, ye have tubes in yer arm an’ underbelly.”  
“Gotta… hide…”  
  
Mr. Bunny had to be hidden this time or dad might hurt him again! Not Orson dad but the other… There’d been so many of them and it was hard to remember which one who was out to get Mr. Bunny. Not this time.  
  
“Juicyboy, ye don’t need to hide’im. Mr. Bunny is safe an’ ye’re safe too, lil’ one. Daddy’s protecting ye both.”  
“A-an’ Papi?”  
“Papi too, lil’ one. No one’s gonnae take Mr. Bunny away or hurt’im or ye again.”  
  
Daddy didn’t lie. If he said he’d protect Mr. Bunny, he would, but Juice still cried and cried, close to hysterically now, because Mr. Bunny smelled a little bit like Papi and maybe Mr. Bunny missed Papi too.  
  
“S-s’alright, M-mr. Bunny… P-papi’s c-coming ba-ack, soon… D-don’t c-cry, Mr. B-bunny…”  
  
He had to comfort his friend. Mr. Bunny was crying and Sr. Lisa always said you had to hug Mr. Bunny if he was sad and ask what was wrong. You couldn’t yell at or shake Mr. Bunny, you had to stroke his back softly and speak with a low and nice voice. Bunnies were easily scared creatures, Sr. Lisa said, and it was very important to be extra kind to those who were small and scared. Both little bunnies and little boys.  
  
“Mr. Bunny is very happy to see ye again, Juicy. He tol’ me so while ye were asleep. He was sad for being away from ye for so long an’ he missed ye so, so much.”  
“W-where was he, Daddy?”  
“Oh, we gotta ask Papi tha’ when he’s back from his shower, lovey. Since he found’im, s’no more than fair tha’ he’s telling the story, right?”  
“Uh-huh… Papi’s telling…”  
“Aye, a lil’ later. Ye know wha’, Juicy. I think Mr. Bunny looks a wee bit sleepy. Maybe ye should ask if he needs a nap?”  
  
Mr. Bunny _felt_ tired. Daddy was right, as always, but Mr. Bunny was still sad too and Juice had to make him stop crying first.   
  
“D-daddy?”  
“Aye, my love?”  
“M-mr. B-bunny needs a-a-a lullaby, Daddy.”  
“Then Daddy’s gonnae sing him one, laddie. I’ll sing to ye both…”


	103. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I fucked up the chapters order and we get Ronea now instead of Filip, which my order craving brain really don't like, but the story wont make sense otherwise. 
> 
> So, the daddies have a little long distance moment in privacy, thanks to a bathroom and modern technology.

Necessity was indeed the mother of inventions, Ronea thought as he rubbed his far too white ass with the stinging salve. He’d asked for permission, of course, and been granted it. The concoction was a home made one used only for special circumstances when they for one reason or another were prevented from keeping to their usual routine and the wait simply was too much.  
  
It wasn’t the same as a spanking, far from it, but it was better than nothing in a situation as stressful as this one. Ronea had gone home and taken a shower, shaved and properly moisturized himself, as ordered. He had a list he could check off in his phone and it filled him with a little scrape of more ease just to look at it.  
  
He’d called for Venus to pick him up – he was too fucking tired to drive – and when he got home, he checked the mail, did the dishes and just wiped up some from their interrupted evening when they’d taken Juice to the E.R. Then he’d peeled his clothes off and dragged himself to the shower.  
  
The nettle concoction stung well enough and Ronea let himself wallow in the moment for a while, thinking about laying with pants and panties pulled down over his husband’s lap… Filip would be stern but not cruel, demanding respect and responsibility, having him remember all his transgressions since last time and be accountable for each and every one of them. Oh well… He had to settle for the chastity belt and a plug right now, as his husband had decided.  
  
Ronea finished adjusting the plug and ring, making sure they were properly in place before he walked downstairs, buck naked, and into the livingroom. He hissed as he sat down on the small stool they usually  kept folded under the couch. It had a rough pad, weaved from untreated ropes and Filip hadn’t used it on him for a long time, so it had a thin layer of dust on it.  
  
He _knew_ he was stressed since the dust didn’t bother him one bit, barely even noticed it, and Ronea just blew it off, lowered to his knees and widened his thighs.  
  
“Fuck…”  
  
He moaned at the feeling of roughness against his already stinging skin and he rubbed down to increase it, causing his barely half-hard cock to grow fully hard in a second.  
  
It should feel wrong, doing this while his baby boy was in such a bad condition, but Ronea could hear his husband repriminding him for feeling guilt about it, the inner feeling of his voice putting a stop to the thought.  
  
Filip had ordered him to go home, so he had. Filip had ordered him to have a shower, so he had. And now he took care of him again because he _counted_ on Ronea to obey, which was a thought that had Ronea groan loudly, rubbing down again. His hole was already clenching and releasing around the plug, the biggest one he owned, and the chastisty Filip had decided for, was one that was snug around both his cock and balls.  
  
As exhausted as he was right now, it took all of Ronea’s willpower not to remove the chastity. He was soon dripping steadily, his buttocks stung so good, wiping away everything but that feeling and in his mind, Ronea was fidgeting over Filip’s lap, fighting the urge to avoid the strikes while still wanting more.  
  
His husband wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t lenient either. He expected good behavior, respect and willful obedience of his husband and had every right to. Filip would be disappointed and feel disrespected if Ronea tried to hide his transgressions from him, or talk his way out of a punishment. Something he’d never succeded in yet and almost never tried to do these days.  
  
The phone sounded and Ronea took it with a shaky hand and opened the text:  
  
_I expect you to be on the stool by now and you’re gonna send me a picture of your arse and your crotch within a minute so I can check that you’re doing as told. If you haven’t, or have come without permission, I will be very disappointed._  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ , Filip!”  
  
Ronea all but yelled at the screen because his husband was a terrible tease who knew exactly how hard to grip on this particular Achilles heel and Ronea laid down on his back, blushing as he widened his legs to get a good picture, first of his pink ass and then his locked up, weeping cock.  
  
He sent them, feeling his face getting more and more red, the embarressment of it almost as big a turn-on as the obedience. It only took a minute before the phone beeped again:  
  
_Good boy. You look beautiful, nice and pink… Now you’re gonna film yourself while removing the chastity and give me a good look at that tight male pussy of yours. I hope for your sake that it’s clean… And you may still not come…_  
  
“Damn you, Telford!”  
  
Most of the time, swearing at your husband was not allowed, but there were occasions when it was completely appropriate and this was one of them, something Ronea didn’t even have to think about afterwards. He was frustrated as he removed the chastity, terribly so, as was Filip and this way they both got a chance to channel a least a portion of it. Filip would most certainly rub one off in the restroom, perhaps he already did and the image of his thick, uncut cock with that dark mass of curls at the base resulted in a zooming in on the tip that left a wet spot on the screen.  
  
Ronea made a little grin to himself as he stopped the sequense and sent it. Filip deserved this, that teasing bastard. He was panting, cock so hard he didn’t think he could bear it much longer, when the answer came:  
  
_Bloody hell! The idea was to keep YOU on edge, not almost having me come in my pants! Ye need a good spanking, husband… Now film yourself while fucking youself nice and slow with the plug. 20 seconds, I’ll count, and no coming. Don’t touch your cock and don’t use the vibrator.  
  
_ Keeping quiet, thank God, was not required, because at this point it wasn’t an option. It was close to torture, having to move the plug so slowly and Ronea mewled now, sweat forming on his brow and his legs had started to shake a bit. He couldn’t handle it and pressed the phone to call his husband.  
  
_“Darlin…?”  
_ “I… I can’t… Please, put the video on, baby…” _  
_  
Judging by the sounds, Filip was absolutely in the restroom and then his flushed face was visible on the screen, eyes dreamy and mouth opened.  
  
“Oh, darlin’… Wish I could speak louder… Gotta… gotta keep it down, alright? Move tha’ plug now, baby…”  
  
He was whispering and Ronea watched him open his pants and getting his cock out, already hard and foreskin pulled back all the way. Filip simply _needed_ this just as much as Ronea did, both of them so fucking stressed out their bodies reacted on it like this. It wasn’t even horniness, but a purely physical need of some fucking outlet and the video only acting as a way of connecting them in this bleak moment.  
  
It didn’t took long for either of them, Filip spilled in his hand without a sound from his lips, just the breaths in and out his nose, speeding up right before the climax. He took a deep breath, breathing out as quiet as possible and nodded.  
  
“Turn the vibrator on, lovey…  yeah, tha’s a good boy… I wannae watch ye come without ye touching yer cock… Touch it an’ I’ll send ye out in the park to cut yerself a rod in public…”  
  
Ronea mewled from the threat, the lust increasing from every word laced with his husband’s thick brogue and the vibrator was working his prostrate at breakneck speed now, his cock dripping obscenely with precum.  
  
“P-please… _please_ , Filip…”  
“Ask politely, lovey. Ask yer husband to relieve ye.”  
  
Tears prickled his eyes now, ears buzzing with that familiar white noise and Ronea’s voice was course as he spoke.  
  
“Please, sir, will you let your husband come?”  
“Asking so nicely, I have no choice but to allow it. Come for me, my darlin’…”  
  
The words and stimulator did all the work and Ronea’s much needed orgasm hit him without a single touch to his cock.


	104. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filip learns more than he ever wanted to about his lover's past.

He didn’t have any bad consciense for it. Facts and logic always seemed to help Filip getting back to himself and Dr. Huang was clearly one of those logical, sensible people that he needed to be able to relax a little. Rubbing one off in the restroom for a few minutes with Ronea on the phone was as good a stress relief as anything and no one had seen or heard a thing. Especially not Juice.  
  
After having cleaned up and gotten rid of all signs of his little break, Filip had sat down in the chair next to Juice’s bed to read. A little while later, Dr. Huang had asked for a long chat and now Filip was back in the chair again, trying not to think about his shaky knees and the numbness spreading in his body with every line in the papers that replaced the book he’d initinally tried to read. His lad was sleeping with Mr. Bunny clutched to his chest and a pacifier in his mouth. It had been with a good amount of hesitation that Filip packed it up from the bag to begin with, because he didn’t want to embarress Juice, but the lad’s sleep had been twitchy and he needed all the rest he could get.   
  
So, as it was, Filip was now watching over his lover who not only wore a nappy and had a stuffed bunny in his arms, but sucked on a pacifier as well. Dr. Huang hadn’t objected. Apparantly, regression could appear within various conditions, both with adults and children and could very often be a more or less unconscious strategy to cope with extreme stress. Filip and Ronea had both told all they knew, all they could possibly think of as important and Ronea had brought along all the notes they’d done while caring for Juice at home. Dr. Huang had offered him to just share some of it, since it was heavy reading, but Filip had asked for all he could legally read. He’d felt so tired of just knowing snippets of his lover’s pain and now Filip knew that they’d actually known nothing at all.  
  
The hospital had access to all of Juice’s medical records and as Filip was listed as Juice’s next of kin, Dr. Huang had been able to share things that Wendy Case and Tara Knowles had either not had access to or been prohibited to tell earlier on. The thick folder of papers felt like lead on his lap now.  
  
Every litte detail hadn’t been revealed, but more than enough of the things the doc found especially connected to Juice’s regressive behavior and extreme fears. Filip had not felt any shame for crying in front of the doc and he didn’t feel any now as he went through in solitude some of the things Juice had hoped to bury and never letting a single more person know about.  
  
Piece by horrible piece, the mosaik that was the child and adolescent Juan Carlos’ life had been put together and it painted a nightmare on the stamped, dated and signed papers. Neglect, starvation and beatings. Imprisonment in a small room, social exclusion from family life for weeks at the time. A desperately hungry child found binge eating in a convenience store late at night, blind and deaf for everything but the food. The shop keeper hadn’t restrained or tried to stop him, it said, but locked the store and tried to calm the child.   
  
_Skinny as a stick and short too. Looked like a six-year-old, tops. Never would’ve guessed he was almost ten. Ate like he’d never seen food before, looked like it too. I was more worried that he might choke than anything else…_  
  
The man had called the cops, of course, but told them about the nature of the situation. That it was a most likely starved kid who’d not uttered a word and only made hissing sounds. When the police showed up, the child had curled up to a ball, breathing very fast and then vomited all over himself and the floor before passing out. The cops took him to the nearest hospital where the doctors had had no problems slapping some of the diagnosis on him almost immediately.  
  
Not just malnutrition, but actual starvation. Dehydration, two broken ribs, deliberate burnmarks, scars from a belt buckle and more bruises than a child of that height and weight should’ve been able to walk upright with. The child’s foster parents had not been reachable and the neighbors told, with surprise, that Mr. and Mrs. Dennis were on a two weeks long vaccation with the kids and would be back in four days. Yes, they’d collected the mail but there’d not been any sounds coming from the house. The cellar? No, no one had heard or seen anything suspicious, what was this about?  
  
Six weeks at the hospital, first. The kid had been close to catatonic, the shock being all too much for his already mishandled brain. Nine years and ten months old Juan Carlos Ortiz had shut down and was completely unresponsive for almost three weeks before he slowly started to react to stimulus. He’d asked for a Sr. Lisa and a Mr. Bunny after a few days and became hysterical when he saw the social worker’s purse, hiding under the blanket until he was promised the item wasn’t there.  
  
The journal mentioned extreme reactions to being alone, even for a second, and that the sedatives weren’t effective. Three volunteers from a child’s rights organization had come to stay with him, taking turns in eight hour long shifts just to keep him calm.   
  
_The patient has started to eat on his own, but due to his malnutrition caused by an extended and deliberate denial of nurishment, the patient is unable to control his eating, believing he’s risking starvation again. The patient has reoccuring episodes of vomiting closely after a meal but it’s not likely that it’s deliberitely self-induced.  
  
_ Filip was good at crying silently and now as the full map of Juice’s nightmares had been put on display, or at least all the things medics, cops  and social workers knew of and had marked out. There was a tone of, not lack of care, but frustrated hopelessness in many of the social worker’s notes and testimonies. They were all overworked, had far too many cases and many of them blamed themselves while still knowing that they just had too many kids who needed them and that time and resources were never enough. Little Juan Carlos wasn’t the only one and neither was any other child in the system. Especially not as he grew older.  
  
_Some cases are just… you know there wont be a good end for some of these kids. I hate saying it, but it’s the truth, officer. I have fifty cases and every single one is urgent. Juan is all our failure. We’re the adults and we all failed, but if I just sit here blaming myself, wishing things were different, we’re not helping Juan or any other kid like him.  
  
_ Brutally honest. A social worker who just had seen too much to allow any wishful thinking for a thirteen-year-old caught not for the first time, after a week on the run from yet another foster father who’d beaten him senseless . As cynical as the words sounded, Filip knew they couldn’t be dismissed as carelessness or the wrong person working with this. They sounded a lot more like those from a woman who’d long since realised that the kids people wanted to help but didn’t want to pay the taxes that would help her and others to do so, or open their homes for them, often would be left behind and forgotten. Juan Carlos was just one of many.  
  
Filip rose from the chair, slowly, and sat down on the smaller stool at Juice’s bedside. His lover looked so young with his bunny and pacifier, but the bags under his closed eyes were old. The line between the small and big boy was more visible now, time stamps that showed all the little and big ways in which those who were supposed to care for a vulnerable child had not just failed, but often not even tried.  
  
Mr. Bunny, or the substitute for him, was sad in so many ways, not just because the burning of the original stuffed toy in front of a heartbroken child, but because the time with the nuns had been the only genuine love and comfort Juan Carlos had experienced for a more extended time. Three months.   
  
Three bloody months for a four-year-old before a scumbag named Mr. Cruz, instead of soothing the scared kid he’d just adopted, burned his stuffed bunny in the fireplace, forcing the kid to watch in terror as his best friend died. Because that’s what it was like for a child that young. To them, toys had feelings, especially teddies and dolls, and in Juan Carlos’ already stressed, scared and grieving mind, his new dad began their life together by murdering his best friend.  
  
Filip’s eyes fell on another section of the papers, dated many years later, staring at it with tears running down his cheeks.  
  
_Juan Carlos Ortiz (16), is showing ongoing difficulties to interact with his classmates and teachers in a normal way. He is not bullied, but clearly gullible and seeks out contact with older boys, some of them gang members, instead of trying to engage with his classmates, who see him as different and strange. The school has suggested for Juan Carlos to take part in a group activity, sports or arts, to improve his social skills, especially with his age group, and to keep him away from the gang culture, but the foster parents have declined, claiming it would take too much time from homework and family activities, primarly within their church. Juan Carlos himself has neither shown interest nor disinterest and appears unwilling to discuss it further with either his foster parents or school staff. The family has also declined all other offers of help in any way.  
  
_ The end. It didn’t say that, but it just as well could’ve. Filip didn’t want to read more, he felt sick, like he’d unknowlingly eaten something rotten that took it’s time to get noticed. He shooted off the chair and more or less fell into the restroom, reaching the toilet just in time. It wasn’t until he’d lost what little food he’d been able to stomach since arriving with Juice to the E.R., that Filip realised he’d not even read as far as to the man Juice called Orson. __  



	105. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice is still a little delirious, Mr. Bunny is busy and Daddy gets lectured.

Voices seemed to be floating around him a lot, many of them unknown, but Papi’s or Daddy’s were always there as well, one or both of them, never leaving him alone with the unfamiliar ones. They were there when the world spun around too fast and he couldn’t open his eyes. Their hands were the ones turning, washing and changing him. Their scents lingered in the things they let him hold onto. _And Mr. Bunny was back._  
  
Papi’s scent and hands seemed to be there more than often Daddy’s. Although, that meant Daddy had decided Papi would be there and that feeling was calming too.   
  
Sometimes the unfamiliar hands were too rough or just scary no matter how soft the touch. When that happened, his body would tense and try a curl up, to protect his belly region, and the unwelcomed touch stopped. Hands of strangers disappeared, their voices turned silent and Papi or Daddy took their place along with Mr. Bunny.   
  
There were fractions of time with pain. Sharp but quickly passing sticks through his skin. He’d mewl out in protest, even cry at times, and there’d be kisses and soothing touches coming immediately. Kind words in soft voices, telling him how good he was, that it would feel better soon. Mr. Bunny didn’t speak, he just remained close at all times and then, the pain would go away again, sometimes fast, sometimes a little slower, but eventually it took it’s leave, just as Daddy and Papi said.  
  
It was dark when he opened his eyes while being actually awake for the first time. The contours still looked fuzzy, but a little less than before and there was this sound of… yes, knits. Juice looked up from his pillow and in the chair, Papi was sitting, working on something dark blue or dark violet looking thing, knits clinking softly with every move. He had his glasses on, hair pulled back and was wearing one of his casual checkered shirts, sleeves folded to his elbows. The lamp on the small sidetable spread a warm, yellow light, not the clinical white one. Juice blinked a few times.  
  
“Papi?”  
“Yes, baby boy, I’m right here.”  
  
Papi put his knitting away and leaned over to the bedside, next to Juice’s pillow. His scarred hands and underarms were warm and Juice nuzzled into them. One of Mr. Bunny’s ears came in between them, like a muzzle on Papi’s mouth and Juice, not really knowing why, giggled quietly.   
  
“What are you laughing at, sweetheart?”  
“Mr. Bunny’s… hi-hiding you, P-papi. Ow!”  
  
He’d moved his head a little too fast and there was a sudden pain in his neck that made his stomach twitch and head throbbing. Papi gentled him, placing his hands around his temples.  
  
“S’alright, baby boy. Nice and easy… Just take a slow breath and relax, okay? And you, Mr. Bunny, really need to stop hiding people.”  
  
Juice giggled again, despite the pain.  
  
“F-found you, Papi. J-juice found you…”  
“You did, my little love. How are you feeling, baby boy?”  
  
Yes, how was he feeling? Juice tried to think and then looked at Papi, serious.  
  
“Not feeling, Papi.”  
“Not feeling what, angel?”  
“Just… Juice is _n-not_ feeling n-now, Papi.”  
  
He didn’t know how to explain but Papi just smiled at him, stroking his hair.  
  
“That’s perfectly fine, baby boy. How does Mr. Bunny feel?”  
“Don’t know, Papi.”  
“Should we ask him?”  
  
Juice thought about it and then shook his head, very slowly.  
  
“Mr. Bunny’s busy, Papi.”  
“Uh-huh. I see. Maybe later, then.”  
“We’ll s-see, Papi.”  
  
Papi made his low, almost purring chuckle and kissed his cheek. Then there was a sound coming somewhere from behind him, a door, and steps.  
  
“Ye’re awake, lil’ one?”  
“Daddy?”  
  
Indeed it was. A beardy kiss was tickling his face now and Juice giggled.  
  
“T-tickles, Daddy…”  
“Ye think Daddy should get rid o’ the beard, lil’ one?”  
“No, Daddy!”  
“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Telford.”  
  
Papi had his bossy voice and Daddy chuckled.  
  
“Cannae disappoint my boys an’ myself. An’ Daddy doesn’t have Papi’s pretty face, so I need all the extra beautification I can get for this old mug.”  
  
Now Papi gave Daddy a little pinch in the earlobe.   
  
“What was that, Mr. Telford?”  
“B-broke a rule, Daddy.”  
  
It wasn’t serious, they were all teasing and Juice kept giggling as Daddy tried to look innocent and Papi glared at him. Then Papi leaned in to press a soft kiss right on one of Daddy’s scars.   
  
“I have the most beautiful husband on Earth, you hear that, Mr. Telford? And I wont allow anyone to tell me otherwise. Especially not you, sir.”  
“I wont make tha’ mistake again, Mr. Telford-Tully. I’ll take my wise husband’s an’ lad’s words to heart.”  
  
Daddy had a special softness in his eyes now, even blushing a little and in a instance, Juice realised that Daddy didn’t feel very pretty, despite what he’d said about not being bothered by the scars anymore. That Daddy _needed_ Papi to tell him they didn’t matter. Juice reached out for his lover’s face, movement heavy and a little shaky, but he managed to give him a slow stroke over the cheek.  
  
“H-has a p-pretty daddy, Daddy. Juice says so, c-cause it’s true…”


	106. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi in thoughts over some of his dear husband's many qualities.

His sweet lover… He gave without knowing it, cared without hiding it and had enough love for everyone but himself. And Filip, that stern old man in jeans and leather, always so strong for his little family, had absolutely no defense to put up against his boy’s honesty. Ronea watched his husband cuddle Juice back to sleep and from his place in the chair, it looked like Filip was clinging onto Juice more than the other way around. Like he was trying to convince himself that his little one was safe.  
  
Ronea finished another lap on his knitting, waiting until he could hear Juice snooze heavily again before he looked up at his husband.  
  
“It was _that_ bad, huh? The file.”  
  
Filip only nodded and nuzzled his sleeping boy’s hair. Ronea stared at his knitting.   
  
“Did it explain anything?”  
“More than enough.”  
“I see.”  
  
That was good, yes, but dear Lord, what had been done to their lover that was so bad it made Ronea’s rock of a husband look like he’d had his soul crushed. What it most certainly meant, was that there’d been a lot of details in the file. Filip was a man who could understand payback, even brutality if it was in the heat of a moment due to some extreme circumstances. But the cold details of a systematic, calculated breaking of a human beings body and soul, how it was even possible for anyone to want to, not to mention actually put that want into practice, was so far away from who Ronea’s husband was and how he functioned.  
  
This was a man who’d had a rough upbringing, but hadn’t become the least cold or careless from it. Filip Telford was the biker who didn’t hesitate to lecture an MC brother or his old lady if they smacked their kid. And if anyone dared to bring the “it’s not illegal, it’s not like we’re beating our kid and mind your own business” argument up, they were in for a long speech.  
  
Once, Filip had even slapped a mother right across her cheek after he’d seen her spank her toddler in the club house. When the husband, a visiting brother from another charter, had went up to get in Filip’s face, Filip had taken the toddler in his arms and calmy explained that if a grown person was allowed to slap around a wee one who couldn’t defend himself, to make him behave, then that person should have no problem to let someone who was bigger and stronger than her, to teach her a lesson.  
  
_Ye’re teachin’ yer son to obey an’ fear ye, ‘cause ye’re bigger than’im. Well, I’m bigger than ye, ma’m. Ye see where I’m going with this? An’ as for ye, brother, I really thought ye were better than yer, or my, old man. Where’s the logic in this? Wha’s yer son suppose to learn from this? He’s bloody three an’ all he knows is tha’ if ye’re big, ye have the right to hurt those smaller.  
  
_ Ronea had witnessed it, as had Tig and some other members, and the toddler had been sobbing into Filip’s neck, clearly not wanting to go back to his parents. It had been a heartbreaking sight, the way the little boy had clung onto a man he didn’t know because he was scared of the man and woman who were supposed to protect him. When he’d finally let go and accepted a soda from Venus, Filip had brought the couple with him to the office.   
  
No one had dared to ask about the conversation, but the couple and Filip had all looked fairly relaxed as they came out and Filip even patted the man’s back, showing there was no bad blood between them. And no visitor had ever been as stupid as trying to hit a kid in the club house again.  
  
Filip, Ronea came to realise over the years, had a tremendous amount of respect for children’s bodies and minds. He didn’t interrupt or ignored them, while still never allowing disrespect. He would get down to their level and make sure they understood the rules and how they had broken them, if they had. What he truly did, Ronea disovered, was to give the kids both the attention, the time and the patience so they could express themselves and by God, Filip was as good with that among kids as he was with Ronea or Juice.   
  
Sure, he could appear very intimidating when he was displeased, especially for a small child who found the height and scars scary too, but Filip never towered over a kid. He’d speak with a low, clear voice and not grab or get rough at all, just being calm and stern. Once, after one of those moments when said kid had promised to behave and hurried away, Tig had asked rather teasingly if Filip and Ronea ever thought about surrogacy and getting a little one of their own. The absolute horror on Filip’s face, Venus claimed had only been outmatched by the look of sheer disgust on Ronea’s and Tig had laughed his ass off.  
  
Ronea put his knitting down and looked at his husband by the bed. He held their baby boy as if he was afraid of both loosing and breaking him.   
  
“You’re not alone, Filip.”  
“Wha’?”  
  
Filip whispered and looked a little confused. Ronea made a very small smile.  
  
“You’re taking such good care of us, baby, in every way you can, and you’re our hero. But as you said yourself, you’re not a _super_ hero and we don’t expect or even want you to be. You being Filip and Daddy is all we want, all we need from you, love. It’s enough, baby. _You’re_ enough.”


	107. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Codes, malware and viruses...

Dr. Huang was nice. Not that Juice could accept him in the room without Daddy or Papi present at first, but apparantly it wasn’t naughty to not know what you felt. Juice had very slowly gotten at least bit used to Papi’s and Daddy’s tolerance on the subject, but the prospect of strangers showing patience with him was a very new one. Not only that, but Dr. Huang could be funny too, always starting his check-ins with:  
  
“ _Are_ you feeling today, Juice?”  
  
To which Juice usually answered:   
  
“Not sure, doc.”  
“Well, sometimes that’s the case, Juice.”  
  
And that was that. No worried looks or difficult questions. Dr. Huang was very concrete and literal in his talking, asking about things that were easy to answer.   
  
Is the pillow comfortable? Is the light from the window hurting your eyes? Does your mouth feel dry? Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?   
  
It was, simply put, questions that didn’t have that many possible answers and never reached into things about his thoughts and more messy feelings. It was acceptable not to have answers and even not being able to try and come up with one. One day, when Juice was willing to be alone with the doc for the first time, on condition that Daddy and Papi stayed right outside and the door was ajar, Dr. Huang asked a different question:  
  
“Do you know if you feel something different for not having Daddy and Papi in here with us?”  
  
Juice had to think and very soon his chest felt a little tighter, but he couldn’t tell why. He started clutching Mr. Bunny, looking away from the doc.  
  
“You know what, Juice. I think that was a quite difficult question for you to answer.”  
  
It was and Juice nodded, still not able to look the doc in the eyes.  
  
“Different people are good with different things, Juice. You’re computor technician, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I bet you’ve met a lot of people who have no idea how to handle their computors. I’m the type of person who starts yelling at my computor when I don’t understand how it operates. For some reason, it never listens to me when I do that.”  
  
Now Juice had to smile. It felt like his job belonged to a different life, but the endless line of desperate customers who literally yelled at their computors, as if they had ears and a will of their own, was such a major part of it, his amusement over the absurd behavior very easily came back.   
  
“I’ve had... those customers. Lots of them.”  
  
The doc tilted his head a little. He had kind eyes, Juice noticed, not for the first time and waited for him to continue.  
  
“Most people need computors these days, but not that many of us truly know _how_ they work. We just trust them to behave as we’re used to and when they don’t, we who’ve not worked with them like you, get really confused, frustrated and sometimes really worried. We can’t see, touch, feel or hear the code that will make our computor work again, so we feel powerless. Does that make sense, Juice?”  
“Yeah, I guess…”  
  
In fact, it made a lot of sense and Juice nodded.  
  
“It… it does, doc. You… you don’t know the language.”  
“Exactly. And it’s quite difficult to try and explain something or solve a problem if it’s told to you in a language you don’t speak that well or maybe not at all, right?”  
“Yeah, it would… would be impossible.”  
“That’s right. So if you were to place me in front of a computor problem and expect me to first understand the code and then also solve the problem, how do you think I would feel?”  
“Uhm… not very good, doc. Stressed?”  
“You’re absolutely right, Juice. I would feel very, very uncomfortable and stressed. And even the things I do understand about the computor, would disappear in that moment, because I’d feel so stressed and anxious, I would be unable to use those skills. And that’s when I would start screaming at the computor, even if I logically know it wont work.”  
  
The doc now smiled and leaned a little more forward.  
  
“I know that to a lot of people, it would seem really weird or even wrong to think of our brains and feelings as computors, because that implies that we’re comparing ourselves with emotionless _things_. But a computor needs to be properly looked after in order to function, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You can’t just yell or type whatever you want or shake it and expect it to obey, can you?”  
  
Juice shook his head.  
  
“No. Wont help.”  
“And you gotta have patience and spend time to learn it’s language, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“And when people don’t understand it, they come to you, because you speak computor language and not only that, but you’re really good at it too. You’re the translator, Juice, and just as your customers need help to communicate with their computors, you and many other people need help from doctors and psychologists to translate and understand your _emotional_ code.”  
  
Now as he heard it, the doc’s idea of emotional codes actually seemed… rather logical. Juice clenched his fingers around Mr. Bunny.   
  
“What if… I’m just not good at… learning that code?”  
“Your customers aren’t giving up on their computors, right? When you’ve fixed the problem and they go home, they still don’t understand how it’s working or why, but they accept it does even if they don’t have full control over their computors.”  
  
Juice took a deep breath.  
  
“That… thing about _if_ I’m feeling, w-when I don’ know why I get so lost… C-could be like a-a virus that… that I d-don’t know is… is there. S-something’s ch-changed but I… I d-don’t r-realise it…? L-like malware that g-got i-into the system when I th-thought I was on a s-safe site?”  
  
He was suddenly very tired and that made him stutter. The doc nodded, though.  
  
“I think that was a very acute description of it, Juice. And together, we’re first gonna stop that malware from spreading further into your system and  then, we’re gonna update your anti-virus program and train it to reckognise and block the malware much better than it’s been able to do in the past. How do you like that idea?”  
  
As exhausted as he was right now, Juice still smiled.  
  
“Quite… like that idea, doc. But…”  
“Yes?”  
“Gotta… put me in stand-by now, doc, cause I’m… outta energy.”


	108. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy is a little resistant to this "new language" and Papi and Dr. Huang try to explain.

“Cannae say I think this sound great, doc. He’s not a bloody robot. Thought the idea was to get’im to understand his feelings, not pretending like they’re not there. He’s already done tha’ an’ see where tha’ took’im.”  
  
Filip Telford was confused and as he was a man who, for most of the time, could reckognize his feelings as well as trace their causes fairly easy, this idea sounded thoroughly fucked up. Ronea rubbed a hand over his face, looking more annoyed than tired.  
  
“Please, Filip, maybe we should let Dr. Huang explain it a bit more before we jump to conclusions.”  
  
The correction was as gentle as could be and since Filip for most of the time was a man who also knew to take his husband’s advices, he stopped and nodded at the doc.   
  
“Sorry, doc. Go ahead an’ explain this for an ol’ drop out biker.”   
  
Dr. Huang made a little smile.  
  
“I realise how stressful this is for all of you, but to Juice, even reckognizing not to mention describe his emotions, is not just difficult and stressful, but can actually be terrifying. I will have to make some more tests before we can be sure, of course, but the signs of alexithymia are clear, I’d say.”  
“Wha’s the cause of it, in Juicy’s case?”  
“Well, judging by what I’ve read in his journals, my spontaneous answer would be childhood trauma, but there can be an organic reason for it, that has been aggrevated because of said trauma. Juice, he asked me to call him that by the way, is showing some pretty clear signs of PTSD and it’s very common for children suffering from abuse, to shut down their feelings in order to protect themselves. They’re often therefor not learning to cope with and in some cases not even reckognizing their own or other peoples’ emotions. They can’t cope, so they shut down to not loose what little control they have.”  
“And then they get scared to feel anything at all?”  
  
Filip looked at his husband and Dr. Huang nodded.  
  
“Some do, yes.”  
“But… tha’ doesn’t make sense, doc. Juice is showing emotions with us, has been for the entire time.”  
“Yes, but your relationship with Juice has some very specific rules and boundaries, right?”  
“Aye.”  
“I’m the first to admit I don’t know much about the BDSM community, but I have no difficulties at all to understand how submission to some people can feel very de-stressing, especially if said person is used to keep an extreme level of control over him- or herself.”  
  
Now both Filip and Ronea blushed and the doc looked completely relaxed.  
  
“I’m not judging you in the slightest and I only bring this up since I believe it has relevance to Juice’s current condition. People who’ve suffered abuse and neglect, especially as children and adolescents, often learn that they can’t rely on anyone but themselves and that, of course, puts their brains under a lot of pressure from an early age. They learn that the moment they let go of control, people may hurt them in one way or the other, and so some of them never learn how to relax on their own or with people they actually love and, to their best ability, trust.”  
  
Ronea frowned.  
  
“But Juice trusts us. I mean, considering his background, I’d say he’s amazingly trusting.”  
“Because he feels safe with you, Mr. Telford-Tully. Since Juice was admitted, both me and the other staff have seen plenty of signs of that on daily basis. Your presence very clearly makes Juice feel safe. Safe enough to open up a little and while he’s shaky and scared, he’s most defnitely not psychotic or unaware of himself or his surroundings now. He’s bodily and mentally exhausted, scared and confused, but not delusional. And he’s clearly eager to learn more about his condition, to some extent, which must be seen as a major progress.”  
“An’ how ‘bout when he’s cleared for the psych ward?”  
“Well, that’s not an option for some days, at least. He’s just too physically exhausted at the moment and still needs monitoring for his somatic symptoms.”  
  
That, honestly, was a relief. Filip liked this doc and the other staff were nice and professional as well. And the idea of his boy being in a psychiatric ward with restricted visiting hours, wearing nappies and probably sharing a room with another patient… No, that was just not an option right now. Not until Juice could cope enough to not need the extentive baby behavior as a shield.   
  
Filip folded his hands together and leaned them onto his knees.  
  
“Well then… How can we help?”


	109. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronea gets through some heavy reading.

_Knowledge is power and by knowing the things I fear, I will regain control over my life, even when it feels hopeless.  
  
_ Ronea hadn’t used that thought for more than fifteen years, but reading Juice’s journal threw him back in time. More specifically, a time when he’d been fighting to just get out of bed, take his meds and go to his appointments. Days when the shame of talking or even thinking about the things he tried to heal from, simply was too heavy, too crippling. When he needed to repeat that mantra from his psychologist, to even open his eyes.  
  
It wasn’t the same, reading about his boy’s pain. There were lots of things Ronea couldn’t even begin to grasp and in every way such a stark contrast to his own childhood and youth. When Aaron had started to grind him down, Ronea still had seventeen years of mostly normality behind him that had helped tremendously to keep at least a part of him protected. He’d known love, care, acceptance and respect early on and when he met Filip, it wasn’t so much a process of learning new things, but rediscovering his true self.  
  
Juice hadn’t been that lucky. He’d rarely been lucky at all. And love? That was about as absent in his file as hope. Ronea wouldn’t presume to think that by reading his baby boy’s gruesome story over and over again, he’d be able to heal him. There was no such thing as a complete healing with no scars, Ronea knew that better than most. What he did hope for, was that the repeated reading, from the beginning to the end and over again, would make himself strong enough to face Juice’s horrors without being taken by surprise or not knowing how to respond.  
  
While reading, he took notes, wrote down questions and organized the mess of pain the sometimes thorough, sometimes short and at times just useless statements in the pile of sad comments on Juice’s life.  
  
What was clear, was that the first couples who’d taken Juice as a baby, had not known what they did. It was heartbreaking for so many reasons, one of them being the plain cluelessness of couples who just didn’t know how to cope with a child who was already at risk of damage from being abandoned merely hours after birth. They’d longed for the idea of a baby, Ronea thought, not an actual baby and instead of getting some help to better their skills, they’d returned him, like they’d had a test run of a car and decided it didn’t fit them.   
  
Six families the first year... Ronea shook his head in disbelief. _Six fucking families_ was about one family every two months and people had the gall to wonder, and _complain_ over a one-year-olds attachment issues.   
  
The continued reading didn’t get any better. One foster mom spanked the fourteen months old with a wooden spoon to “curb his neediness”. A foster dad used to make the three-year-old sit naked outside on the backporch in winter to stop the bed wetting. The man had defended his actions by assuring that he let the boy sit on a cushion and not directly on the ground and that it had just been for a few minutes at the time. He’d stopped as the boy “just wouldn’t stop crying”.  
  
Ronea didn’t want to cry as Juice was sleeping, so he forced the lump in his throat away. A theme in the story of the child Juice, was clearly that the vast majority of the foster parents, expected something else than the child they took into their homes. The complaints in his early years were very often about neediness and a right out baffling lack of knowledge about how abandoned kids with no sense of security could act.   
  
Another, just as sad theme, was the gender bias. Actual quotes from some foster parents, and some teachers and on occasion a social worker, revealed a sort of macho ideal in various grades, both men and women in Juice’s childhood and even more in his adolescence, judged him by. Difficulties with social interactions, talking, eye contact and a lack of facial expressions were seen as simple shyness that group activities and “some actual effort” would fix. He was good at sports, that was something.   
  
_That’s something, at least._  
  
How the child Juice had not been crushed by the age of ten was just increadible and as Ronea reached the years of adolescence, especially from age fifteen and further on, there were  little drops of defiance, increasing more and more with time, that showed a teenager who may be eager to please, but not to the extinction of himself. When his hair got brutally shaved off, the teen got himself some ridiculous, but nontheless professionally made tattoos on his skull. The comment from the doctor who’d treated Juice at the hospital after another brutal beating due to the tats wasn’t _I’m sorry this happened to you, kid_ , but:   
  
_Was it really worth it, Juan?  
  
_ The black and blue teen who, according to the notes, didn’t shed a tear during his long stay, had answered:  
  
_I’d do it again for twice the beating, doc, so hell yeah, it was fucking worth it. And it’s Juice, not Juan._  
  
Ronea watched his sleeping boy through the tears he couldn’t stop at this point. Juice didn’t need to get or even build up his backbone, he already had more of that than most people could even dream of achieve during a lifetime. No, what this fighter needed wasn’t more hard bonemass, but padding to ease the grinding of hurting, wornout bones against overworked muscles that just screamed for some rest and softness.  
  
His baby boy was a highly skilled survivor. What he’d never had a chance to learn, was how to actually live and not just staying alive. 


	110. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaand I think there might be some actual progress going on. 
> 
> Oh, and I don't know shit about how the US health care system works in terms of how and where you get admitted, only that it sucks even for middleclass peopel and the rest of the developed world is baffled about how fucked up it is, but Juicyboy has been a frugal person with a very well-paid job and one hell of a health insurance for many years, so I've just decided he can afford good help, even though he needs others to get him where the help is.

A computor with malware. He could work with that. It was very important, the doc said, not to view feelings per se as malware, though. The malware was the alexithymia that made the codes connected to feelings fuck up and not respond accurately. Also, this didn’t mean it was as simple as to repair a commando that then would work the same every time. As Daddy, for some reason, found it necessary to repeat: he wasn’t a robot. _Unfortunately_ , Juice once responded and Daddy just looked exasperated while Papi chuckled.  
  
Papi, for some reason, took this a bit more relaxed than Daddy and didn’t seem the least disturbed by this computor/malware thing. Daddy couldn’t be around all the time for the next few days, he had to get back to work some, but Papi never left and the days came to have a sort of routine again. Papi kept an eye on all things the nurses and doc planned and it helped a lot, just knowing that someone knew what was happening and could tell. Daddy was of course with him every day after work, but it really felt like it was Papi who ran things right now.  
  
No one in the staff ever helped with diapers, washing or showering and Juice felt immensly grateful for that. Papi had some restrictions as to how and how much he could help out with and when he absolutely had to call for help, but after the staff had gotten Juice off the bed and onto the shower bed thing on wheels, Papi took over and that meant the staff very rarely saw Juice naked. A sliver of regained dignity, sort of.  
  
They’d ran tests, lots of them, and Juice was fed up with needles, tubes, scales and pH test sticks – not to mention pills and hospital food. Still, compared to how much his up until now fairly controlled emotions now ran completely wild, it was nothing. The only thing that really helped in one of those chaotic moments, was how no one, not Papi or Daddy or anyone in the staff, got worried or questioned him. It wasn’t just okay, but somehow almost a given, that Juice didn’t know what he was feeling or what he was trying to control in the first place.  
  
Other tests weren’t physical, but mental and fucking exhausting. Dr. Huang told him they were for ADD, ADHD and alexithymia.That alexi thing wasn’t strange by now, at least it was a term Juice could honestly say he didn’t know about enough to say how to deal with or rule out, but ADHD? He actually glared at the doc when it was brought up during one of their morning check-ups.  
  
“Tha’s just weird, doc. Sorry, but I can be still, you know. And focus.”  
“There’s a lot more to ADHD or ADD than the first things we come to think of, as boys who climb the walls in school and play monkey. And I’m not saying that you necessarily have ADHD or ADD, only that it’s worth testing.”  
“Why?”  
“Because your journal shows a lot of statements about your inability to focus. Not always in those words, but there’s a theme running, roughly from the age of three, that shows a boy who constantly seems to zone out in almost every activity except for two. I think you know which ones those two are.”  
  
Juice sighed.  
  
“Computors and sports.”  
“And why not bikes?”  
“Sorry?”  
“You’re a biker, right?”  
“Yeah.”  
“What is it that you like about riding?”  
“Well…”  
  
It used to be easy to tell, or had it? Juice suddenly realised no one had really asked him about his passion for motorcycles before. Why had he gotten hooked on that? He frowned, bit his lip without realising it.  
  
“Cause it’s… I feel free, I guess. And the adrenaline rush is just… amazing.”  
“Isn’t that stressful? With the adrenaline rush?”  
  
Juice shook his head.  
  
“No. When… when I ride it’s like… just the road and me. It’s not like that feeling free shit, or at least not… that much. It’s more like… I don’t have a million things taking over, you know. I loose focus on the highway, driving at full speed, I’m gonna kill myself, possibly someone else too, so it’s like… not even an option. S’me and the road, nothing else.”  
“So you have control, but you’re not feeling controlled?”  
“Yeah… I guess you could… Yeah, that’s… that’s what I feel.”  
  
The doc nodded.   
  
“So, would you say that, while having one of those rides, you don’t have any malware? Your anti-virus program is fully protecting?”  
  
It seemed like it had been a very long time since he’d described any emotion that easily, with such certainty. Juice closed his eyes, he was tired again, and now he could almost sense _how_ he fell back into his usual unfocused state of mind, where feelings, facts, thoughts and bodily reactions seemed to mix together and just turn him into a mess again.   
  
“It’s… not working now, doc. The program. Getting malware again…”  
“Okay, then maybe we should stop here and put your brain in state of rest again.”  
“Yeah, I think… that’s best, doc.”  
“Then we’ll stop. You’ve worked really hard, Juice, and while it may not feel like it right now, you’re doing a lot of progress.”  
  
Now Juice laughed.  
  
“ _May not feel_ , doc? You do remember which patient you’re with, right?”  
  
Dr. Huang smiled widely.  
  
“It’s really nice to hear you laugh like this, Juice.”


	111. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mr. Bunny says."

He was in awe, which seemed like a pretty fucked up feeling in this situation, but that was the most accurate word for what Filip felt for his young lover now. Admiration just wasn’t enough to cover what Juice’s skills for survival woke inside him and Filip often felt like he had to look away from his lad or he’d start bawling.  
  
A part of Filip had been worried that Juice’s lack of normal responding to feelings and affection, was a sign of actual lacking in most normal emotions and that the lad, just like sociopaths, merely copied other’s behavior in order to simulate feelings he didn’t actually have. Not that he’d ever thought Juice was a sociopath in any sense, but simulating feelings instead of actually having them was never a good sign and actually worse than the opposite: having them but suppressing them.  
  
Juice, however, was a mixture of both states, but the cause was not sociopathy or anything like it. Dr. Huang had ruled that out before Filip had even finished the sentence of his question. Juice was absolutely not showing any signs what so ever of sociopathic behavior, or even emotional unstable personality disorder. There were small overlaps, but as Filip well knew already, a lot of significantly different psychiatric disorders had overlapping symptoms, just like somatic conditions.  
  
With all this new information, that sure was one hell of a buffet to swallow and digest, that chaos Juice had displayed in many different ways ever since their first encounter, started to make sense and that’s where Filip’s awe came from.  
  
Since they began talking about the “malware code” as Filip had named it in his thoughts, Juice, however still very tired and bodily weak, seemed to improve rather steadily. _Out of energy_ had become the lad’s code words for when he was too tired to continue with any “investigating” talking and Dr. Huang had been very clear that whenever Juice said that, it was time to back off and give him the space.   
  
“It _can_ be a way of avoiding the subject, but it may also be Juice’s first actual verbal way of telling that he’s had enough and it’s crucial that he builds up healthy boundaries and starts reckognizing his right to his own space.”  
  
Just as with the nest, Filip thought. A very clear and visible space with absolute, physical boundaries. Trying to grasp the reality of a mind who’d never learned how to draw the lines, only that people would cross them – or put new ones up – no matter what, at least most of them, was staggering. The only real boundary Juice seemed to have, was the one that separated him from others in all other ways than professionally. He could handle work and co-workers, because that was a boundary he could both see and feel how he shared with others. Then, it went downhill.  
  
Considering Juice’s background, this wasn’t surprising, not now as Filip finally had enough facts to use as hooks to hang up and sort out this chaos on. And as the ADD was concerned, well, Ronea had immediately started to look that stuff up even though Filip first had ruled it out since Juice, at least before he became ill for real, always seemed so focused, tidy and absolutely loved routines when they formed their relationship. Ronea had listened to this objection and then calmly explained that being able to keep up a more controlled appearance during a weekend or two, didn’t say shit about how he’d felt and acted while not being with them.  
  
“Listen, baby, I’ve not forgotten how good I was at acting normal while being with Aaron. Wasn’t only hiding bruises, you know.”  
“I know.”  
  
Yes, Filip knew, he’d not forgotten and never would, unless he had a brain damage of some sort. Abuse victims often became experts in playing the role of a healthy and happy person, as long as they were in a situation they could control. Filip had seen that bravado more times than he could remember, his beautiful, strong husband putting up that face of utter calm and control, the ravishing smile and witty, ironic and lewd jokes. The mask would come off only when they were alone and the exhaustion took over.  
  
The ADD possibiliy actually could explain why Juice thrived so much on routines he didn’t have to control himself. Looking for something or someone to stop or at least curb the chaos when he himself was too tired to do it. And if he didn’t even realise that he was exhausted or where the sense of chaos came from, well then, giving over to someone whom he trusted to rule over that chaos in a good way, while still having the contract and clear boundaries set from the beginning to not loose any real control over his life, actually made a lot of sense.   
  
Filip watched his lil’ one who was curled up in his usual roll with Mr. Bunny tucked to his chest, watching a Studio Ghibli movie on his laptop with headphones on. He still used nappies and pacifiers, the latter especially when he’d had staff around for a while and tried to wind down after they’d left. Of course, chastity was not an option in any way now, but in this state, nothing even remotely sexual seemed to reach the lad, which was both just as it should and a huge relief. Filip reached out to stroke Juice’s cheek and his lad took the headphones off, looking at him. Filip took his hand.  
  
“How are ye holding up, kiddo?”  
“Tired, Daddy. Like… _tired_ tired.”  
  
That meant he was simply tired, not deeling drained from anything specific and Filip couldn’t help but smiling at his lad’s way of telling that.  
  
“Tha’s good to hear, Juicyboy. Glad ye’re feeling the difference now.”  
  
Juice looked up at him, pupils a little expanded from the sedatives and he took the pacifier out.  
  
“I’m really not, Daddy. I know there is one, but I’m not actually _feeling_ the difference, you know. Jus’… I know that I’m tired an’ s’not that chaotic now, so… I’m going for _tired_ tired, not… that other tired. Can… can I watch the movie now, Daddy?”  
“Of course, Juicy.”  
“Thank you, Daddy.”  
  
Filip swallowed.  
  
“Ye wannae be alone for a while? S’it distracting with me in here righ’ now?”  
“Mr. Bunny says he wants you to watch the movie with us.”  
  
_Mr. Bunny says_. Letting the stuffed animal ask for things that Juice didn’t feel comfortable doing himself. They differed from day to day and had no real logic pattern, which Filip had accepted as one of the minor difficulties they all just had to accept in the process while working with the major ones.  
  
“Daddy can watch the movie with ye an’ Mr. Bunny, Juicy.”  
“On the bed, Mr. Bunny says.”  
  
Ah. Filip stroked the stuffed bunny’s round belly.  
  
“I’d _love_ to watch it on the bed with my boy an’ his friend, Mr. Bunny.”  
  
No answer, but Juice smiled now, looking rather content that his message through Mr. Bunny had reached through and the increadibly brave and strong lad moved slowly and with visible difficulties to make room for Filip.


	112. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi has a little revelation of his own.

They no longer needed to both stay with Juice all the time now. After just a few days of digesting this far more comprehensible information about their lover’s past and the way _he_ responded to all the new terms and thoughts from Dr. Huang, Juice seemed a lot more stable and at first it was kind of confusing.   
  
It seemed as if the doc was right, though. The very concept of simply discovering, separating and putting words onto different emotions, was almost completely foreign to Juice, hence his all but constant worry that made those unidentified feelings even worse to handle. It wasn’t that he’d not tried to do it, and sometimes also succeeded, but the pressure and mental exhaustion that followed  had been far greater than Ronea ever would’ve been able to guess.   
  
One afternoon, while Filip stayed with Juice at the ward, Ronea was finally back home again, doing laundry, looking over his neglected garden and completely ignoring his husband’s order to take it easy, by doing a proper housecleaning. With wornout clothes and a rag around his hair, Ronea practically flew through the house, dusting, vacuuming, sorting items to their right places, airing the rooms and mopping floors.   
  
This probably wasn’t what most people considered having a break, but Ronea wasn’t like most people and definitely not like most men. After he was done downstairs and with the bedroom and bathroom, Ronea opened the door to the room they didn’t use.   
  
It was actually pretty big, especially since Ronea had removed all the shelves and boxes, with lots of light coming in from the now quite dirty window. Ronea ran a finger across the dusty windowsill. Picking out colors for a room of his own in his lovers’ home, had become too much for Juice. It was meant as a sign of how much they wanted him in their lives, in their home, but what neither Ronea nor Filip had realised, was that simply being a _guest_ already was such a strange concept to their lover, he’d not known how to deal with the offer – or the emotions it stirred up.  
  
Juice own apartment was very small and if you didn’t count the kitchen, the hallway and the bathroom, this room was almost as big as Juice’s bedroom and livingroom combined. It could easily fit a queensized bed, a huge desk, several shelves and there was even a small storage without a door, that would contain all Juice’s clothes and more.  
  
Ronea sighed. He could honestly say that the idea of always sharing the bed with Juice, wasn’t comfortable to him. He wanted and needed alone time with his husband, that was just a fact, and it had been a very long time now since they’d shared a bed just the two of them. The two relationships weren’t the same and after more than twenty years of marriage, Ronea knew more than well how important it was to not neglect an old relationship in favor of a new one.   
  
They’d talked a lot about it, him and Filip, especially in the beginning. After a weekend with Juice, they’d taken some extra time for just the two of them. Nothing major, only a few more hours to do something together. A long walk, a movie night or just an extra lazy cup or two of coffee in the garden. Talking, not just about Juice and their new relationship or even their marriage, but of other things they enjoyed. Sometimes they just enjoyed each others silent company while being occupied with separate things. A book or just silent musing. Sex most definitely wasn’t always a given.   
  
Ronea missed all that. He missed going to bed with his husband. To get ready, maybe letting Filip brush his hair or help him off with a cardigan. Small, seemingly insignificant waves from an ocean of care before getting under the covers.  
  
Rationally, Ronea knew it wasn’t selfish to long for that and that it didn’t mean he didn’t care about Juice, but it wasn’t always easy to tell feelings to stop fucking things up. He sat down on the floor, looking at the white, shaggy walls and how it seemed like an eternity since he’d started thinking about which color would suite his baby boy and the feelings of guilt he’d had for not knowing what Filip would think about it. How stupid they both had felt once realising they’d both shared the same thoughts and both felt a bit guilty for it. It seemed ridiculous, for a couple who’d been open in many ways for so long, to suddenly get all insecure over a relationship neither had expected to mean so much that quickly. It forced them to re-evaluate their marriage, the roles they were comfortable with and discovering both new strenghts as well as new weaknesses along the way.  
  
In a way, Ronea mused as he looked around the room, it was like stumbling upon a new side of yourself and your partner at the same time, both of you taken by surprise and simply trying to go with the flow the best you could. In the meantime, this third person tried to figure out the boundaries and opportunities from his point and it would be safe to say that had they all known how much it would cost them emotionally, they’d never dared doing it.  
  
A room for Juice. Not just a storage or wardrobe for his stuff, but some space that would be his… Ronea let his thoughts wander off. Juice coming home from work – a work he actually liked that didn’t tear him apart from stress – greeting Papi with a kiss before heading upstairs to his room, his own space, with locks and keys if he wanted to, and get washed up and change clothes to something more comfortable for dinner. He’d pay his part of the bills and food, have his responsibilites for their life together.   
  
Ronea really couldn’t help himself now. He’d been able to keep this dream in a leash for a long time, but he was stressed out, exhausted and just in need for something disgustingly fluffy to soothe himself with.  
  
Juice would have a better job that didn’t involve so much stress and social pressure, keep doing things he liked: going to the gym, work on or go for a ride on his bike. He’d play his video games again, work on his various computor projects and get a dog or something. Ronea rolled his eyes.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Ronea Telford-Tully, now you’re heading towards fucking Disney pastels, you sappy old fuck… Get a grip, will you? Seriously…”  
  
Fact was, how ever, that for all the things Ronea _didn’t_ know about his lover, he knew _this_ without a doubt: his baby boy had sucked up every little sip of the childhood reenactment, or what one would call it, like a dried out sponge. Tentatively at first, so scared of the prospect of shame and rejection he’d learned to always prepare for, that he’d been unable to show that side of himself until he’d turned ill and just couldn’t cope anymore. It wasn’t a kink and not a delusion. The short moments of loss with reality, as the time Juice had sucked on Ronea’s nipple, didn’t reoccur like that, nor did they mix up with nightmares or panic attacks.  
  
No, Juice used this Little state as a way of allowing himself to ask for the things he’d been deprived of but still longed for. Things an adult “shouldn’t” need at all and the shame for needing them therefor so much deeper. But playing it, to act it out, even if there was nothing sexual connected to this regression, as opposed to the daddy kink, maybe truly was Juice’s way of coping with not only his loneliness and lost childhood, but the alexithymia as well.   
  
Babies had simple needs. Love, comfort, nourishment, warmth, rest… Play and – yes – _discovering their own bodies.  
  
_ “Lord almighty…”  
  
Ronea stared at the unpainted wall.  
  
Juice hadn’t needed more time to think or get used to the idea of being a part of their family. He longed for it, desperately so, but was just unable to make that decision since he had no real concept of what it _meant_ to actually belong to each other – and most certainly never learned to see himself as someone who’d belong to anyone for real. He’d had the nuns to thank for the most stable and loving part of his childhood, some teachers too, and then a pitbull named Dixie who’d kept him warm and protected him from it’s own owner.   
  
The way his baby boy seemingly so easily had accepted, a lot of the time with pleasure and relief, to “grow down” a bit, wasn’t purely a way of getting rid of tension and explore a more carefree side, but an actual way of trying to explore and express himself without being quite so scared to do or say “stupid” things. Little kids, especially toddlers, were expected to be ignorant and needy – and a baby was helpless. What better way for someone who simply _couldn’t_ use words to express his needs, for whatever reason, than to use his body as a communication tool instead.  
  
_Hold me. Feed me. Change, wash and dress me. Look at and touch me with love and care even when I feel pathetic and gross._ It might not have gone this far without the level of exhaustion Juice had reached, but it had been a crucial part in their relationship from the very beginning. Juice was highly capable of living an adult life and keeping himself alive, but he’d been brave and desperate enough for that other part, the need for others, the need for being reliable on someone, that not even his deepest fears and shame had been able to stop him.  
  
Ronea looked again at the dusty surfaces with determined eyes. He had work to do.


	113. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the hospital, were Daddy understands more than Juice wants to think about.

The second movie had ended and Daddy turned it off. Juice moved a little, feeling a bit numb in his back. Things were so strange…  
  
“Daddy?”  
“Aye, lovey?”  
“Do you… think I’m crazy?”  
“No, Juicyboy. No, I don’ think ye’re crazy, ye numpty.”  
  
Juice giggled at that, soundless, and Daddy smiled, kissing his nose.  
  
“Ye’re tired from years o’ struggles most people never face, lil’ one. Wha’ would’ve been crazy, would be if ye were all fine after tha’.”  
  
Juice turned serious, slowly realising something.  
  
“You… you know more now… ‘bout me? Don’t you, Daddy?”  
“I do, laddie.”  
“How… how much?”  
“Well…”  
  
Daddy bit his lower lip and looked away for a second.  
  
“Doc lemme an’ Papi read some o’ yer… background.”  
“You… you mean…?”  
  
His stomach curled into an anxious pit and he could feel his eyes widen.  
  
“Juicyboy, when ye let us be yer temporarily… caretakers, we could…”  
“Fuck…”  
“I’m… I’m sorry, kiddo, the doc let us… we don’ know everything, Juicy, far from it. Jus’ enough to… get a better picture.”  
“Better?”  
  
He laughed now, didn’t really know why, because the picture of the boy in his file wasn’t a nice one. It was sad, pathetic and ugly. No one was supposed to know _that_ boy, not anymore.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Juice. We… we jus’ needed to understand. Been fumbling in the dark for so long now an’… if ye don’ wannae talk about it, I understand.”  
“You don’t have to explain, Daddy. I… I know it’s not right to…”  
“Not right to what, Juicy?”  
  
It was so hard to remember what Daddy already knew. What he’d told him and Papi before ending up in this bed. It was just a blur.  
  
“If… If I’d… Guess I’d… jus’ not let you help me at all if I… didn’t want you to know anything… I understand if you think I’m… just a complete fuck-up.”  
“I don’t. None of us think anything like tha’, Juicyboy. Listen to me, love, ye’re _not_ a fuck-up, alright? Ye’re a survivor, an’ far, far stronger than ye realise.”  
  
Juice clutched his stuffed friend and put him to his cheek, hiding away from Daddy's sad, loving eyes.  
  
“Mr. Bunny’s got a headache, Daddy.”  
“He does, does he?”  
“And st-stomache ache too…”  
“Oh, poor Mr. Bunny.”  
“T-tried to tell us, Daddy. While we talked.”  
“We must’ve spoken too loud then. Bunnies have small voices.”  
“Mr. Bunny doesn’t like to shout. Hurts his ears.”  
  
Daddy leaned closer and stroked Mr. Bunny’s ear and then Juice’s hair.  
  
“S’been a lot o’talking for such a wee lil’ bunny’s ears, I think. How ‘bout a nap before Papi comes back, huh?”  
“Sounds nice, Mr. Bunny says.”


	114. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filip doesn't exactly like it when people of either sex are ogling at his husband. And since he's Filip, he also feels guilty about feeling like that :p

What was it with women and his husband? Filip wasn’t jealous as a person, but it was pretty uncomfortable with these women, both among the staff, the patients and the visitors, who threw constant glances at his man. While men stood for most of the disapproving or even hateful looks, those from the women were on the scale from fascinated fear to absolute awe and ever since one of the nurses had seen Ronea both knitting and embroidering, the younger females in the staff were shamelessly looking at him with curiosity and admiration, while the elder ones seemed both a bit disapproving and – yes – _motherly_.  
  
Every time Filip got a specific thought about his husband, namely one that considered making sure never to have him leave the house without an escort, ever again, it was in these situations and he always felt like the biggest sexist top ever the second after, as if he’d thought he owned Ronea and thought his man would become defiled or something from others looks.   
  
Embarressing, insecure and selfish weren’t nearly enough to describe such a sense of entitlement. It didn’t actually speak to Filip’s maturity either, that he gave women – or men – who were looking that shamelessly at his husband, the stink eye. This time it was one of the evening shift nurses who, thank God, just needed to make a quick check on the sleeping lad’s IV before leaving again. Ronea rolled his eyes once she’d left.  
  
“ _Really_ , Filip?”  
“Wha’?”  
“Why don’t you just take a piss on my leg while you’re at it.”  
  
Ronea looked like a smug, serene cat as he took up his knitting and a little smile was twitching in the side of his mouth.  
  
“You don’t think I’ve seen that look from girls pointed in _your_ direction at the club parties over the years, baby? If they only knew that the bad boy in leather with a sexy accent, not only is a spanking pro, but also has a weakness for shortbreads and watching _This Is Us,_ I’d have to tuck you in a bag and flee the country.”   
  
Filip smiled at that, but still felt a little guilty – and annoyed about the looks – and headed over to put an arm around his husband’s shoulders, pressing a small kiss on his hair.  
  
“Don’ know wha’ I did to deserve ye, lovey.”  
“I hope you meant that as a compliment.”  
  
He was just about to chastise Ronea for even considering something else, but then he saw the pleased smile. His husband wasn’t talking badly about himself, he was just teasing Filip the way he did best.   
  
“Love ye, darlin’.”  
“Love you too, baby.”  
“Ye rested some at home?”  
“Yes and no.”  
“Ye wannae explain a wee bit more?”  
“Physically I didn’t rest… at all…”  
“Ronea…”  
  
Filip groaned and Ronea put his knitting down and raised his hand.  
  
“Let me explain, baby. You told me to get rested, right?”  
“Aye.”  
“You didn’t order me specifically to lay or even sit down, did you?”  
“Uhm, no… Where are ye going with this?”  
“When I got home, I got energy all of a sudden and just couldn’t sit down and watch a movie or read or anything, okay. I would’ve become more stressed and tired from that and the point was that I’d be less stressed and tired, wasn’t it?”  
“Of course.”  
“Good. And it helped my stress and tension a lot to start working on Juice’s room.”  
“Ye did wha’?”  
“Oh, trust me, baby, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this that’s not even about the stress thing. The stress relief is just a bonus.”  
  
Filip rolled his eyes.  
  
“Ye realise ye’ve jus’ made it impossible for me to know if ye’ve broken a rule or not.”  
“Yes, sir. But I can wait until you’ve come to a conclusion. Oh, and I brought you shortbreads too. And homemade coffee.”  
  
Now Filip had to laugh. Sometimes his husband was completely impossible and Filip loved it.  
  
“Ye need a good spanking, ye know tha´?”  
“You don’t say? How about some coffee and cookies, to improve my chances?”


	115. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly from previous chapter, only a few shortbreads in as Ronea just has explained his little epiphany.

His man was a softie, when you got to know him properly, and Ronea had learnt that sometimes it just took too long to explain an idea that sounded like disobedience when it really wasn’t. It didn’t happen too often and there had been times when Ronea was wrong and ended up getting spanked, but never without a thorough “investigation” first.  
  
Filip munched quietly on a shortbread and listened while Ronea talked and Juice snoozed.  
  
“I’m not just pretty sure I’m right, baby, I’m absolutely sure. We’ve been waiting for Juice to decide about the room, the colors, when he simply _can’t_.”  
“Not righ’ now, no. But I thought we decided to wait until he could.”  
“I know, but after everything we’ve learned these days, do you really think that will happen before the next decade?”  
“Well…”  
  
Filip probably hadn’t thought about it at all for a while, for obvious reasons, but he was always interested in how Ronea reasoned and he leaned back in the chair, strenghten himself with some of the coffee he surely needed like air like now.  
  
“I’ve not really been thinking ‘bout it tha’ much. Dinnae think ye had either.”  
“Not until I came home and had some time to resettle a bit. I went to Juice’s room, just to… I don’t know, try and think better, I guess. And then it hit me: he’s never gonna pick a color, Filip, because he doesn’t know how it feels to have a room of his own.”  
“He’s got his own _apartment_ , Ronea.”  
“Yes, but he’s never ever had a room in a house together with _other people_. He doesn’t know how to handle the idea of having a space of his own in our house, because it’s just completely alien to him. With his background and the alexithymia on top of it… How can he pick colors, Filip, when he’s still not realising that it’s really _his_? In his mind, there’s still Little Juice who rules right now…”  
“And Little Juice never got to pick shite… Ye’re right, darlin’. Wasn’t gonnae happen.”  
  
Ronea didn’t feel smug now, but a little shy and meek again.  
  
“I know I should’ve asked you first, but I got caught up in the moment and didn’t stop to think. I needed the distraction, Filip, but I should’ve called.”  
  
Filip reached his hand out for Ronea to take and he walked over for Filip to pull him onto his lap and just hug him.   
  
“Aye, maybe, but I know myself too, lovey. Had ye called, I would’ve been a worry wart an’ jus’ said no, without thinking. An’ if ye dinnae get stressed out by it, ye dinnae break tha’ rule.”  
“What about the one about not making decisions outside my area without confirming with you?”  
“Since when’s our home not yer area?”  
  
Ronea shrugged.  
  
“Juice’s room… I don’t know, but it feels like a separate part, somehow.”  
“Well… I can kinda see how ye might think o’ it like tha’, darling, but if tha’s the case, then it’s Juice’s decision, not mine, really. An’ if I’d take care o’ it, ye know it’d jus’ look like a mix o’ the club house an’ my old flat.”  
“Not while I’m still alive and kicking, Mr. Telford. But was it wrong of me to start with the room?”  
  
His husband shook his head and leaned onto Ronea’s chest a bit.  
  
“No, lovey. Not unless ye worked yerself too hard, but tha’ doesn’t seem to be the case. Can see ye’re more relaxed now so I guess instead o’ giving ye a reprimand, I should reward ye. An’ then I should probably start thinking ‘bout who’s actually in charge in this family an’ how exactly ye’re managing to work around the rules like this without even making me angry.”  
“Every sub has his secrets, baby. And don’t waste your time trying to figure them out, you’ll only end up with a headache. More coffee?”


	116. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get another story from Juice's childhood. A sad one, of course, but with some actual happiness to it as well. And Papi is a quite clever man^^

Once again, Juice’s feelings were all over the place and for some reason, everyone seemed fine with that, not just Daddy and Papi. It was okay to cry, apparantly, in front of the doc, the nurses and the nurse’s assistents. No one got upset or angry or even frustrated. Being surrounded with people – in addition to Papi and Daddy, of course – who weren’t bothered by his weakness and generally fucked up state of mind, was something entirely new.  
  
No one but Papi or Daddy helped him shower and they did it every other day, washing him gently with sponges and a special shower gel that smelled far better than the hospital’s. It meant a lot, that they also changed his diapers and made sure no one entered while they were at it. They also changed his bed sheets after the showers and his clothes every morning. They were the ones trimming his nails, brushing his teeth and gently bending his limbs and joints to improve his movements.  
  
The doc and his team had decided that Juice wouldn’t leave until he could move around properly, either with crutches or on his own, as well as rise, sit and lay down. Psychiatric wards weren’t always equipped to handle this amount of physical difficulties, Dr. Hwang had said, and while Juice was grateful for not having to move to another new ward with new hands and faces, he also realised that his major issues weren’t his joints and muscles. They were merely symptoms.  
  
Knowledge was good, but it didn’t seem to stop the emotions from pouring out at all times, mostly in the form of tears and it was exhausting to say the least. It took three days of this eye tap problem for Juice to stop apologizing to the staff for it, but eventually, he did. It was due to exhaustion rather than no longer giving a shit, but the former eased the way to the latter and as his body started to co-operate for real, a little more by almost every day, Juice no longer paid that much attention to it, even if people saw him.  
  
The staff was nice, he couldn’t say otherwise. Having grown-up patients with diapers and stuffed animals wasn’t anything new, one of the nurse’s assistents told him. Lots of people, both men and women, in all ages, felt better if they had a stuffed animal or an extra pillow to cuddle with while they felt miserable, especially in hospitals, and sometimes an illness required otherwise functioning people to wear diapers too. Nothing to be ashamed of. And the pacifier? As long as he didn’t choke on it, no one gave a shit. Juice had not been able to stop a smile when the nurse’s assistant said “shit”.  
  
Being allowed so many things was strange to say the least and this new freedom to indulge in acting out this need for safety, brought back memories. Unfortunately, not good ones. The more Juice was able to remember without getting a flashback, a panic attack or anything else too painful to cope with, the more he realised how little he’d had of what kids _should_ have. He couldn’t remember his earliest years, of course, but what he did recall clearly now, was how impatience and rush ran like a theme throughout most of his life, especially his childhood and adolescence. His foster families had had time, just not for him. He’d been a chore, something on the list to do and be done with.  
  
The feeding, the potty training, the nighttime routine, homeworks when he started school… He was always too slow, he was “defiant” ,“difficult on purpose” and “needy”. He’d been given laxative candies to hurry the potty training, cough syrup to fall asleep faster and one of his foster dads had even force fed him caffein pills in an attempt to make a thirteen-year-old mind who never heard the alarm or managed to stay focused, do better in school. In hindsight, and with Papi’s and Daddy’s reactions to other things about his childhood, Juice started to realise that the cough syrup, laxative candies and caffein pills probably fell under the category of things that would shock his lovers – and any sane person.  
  
It was almost possible to see the pattern now, even if he still didn’t share his thoughts with anyone. It seemed as if it was important just get some time to think a bit about them on his own first and time was something he had lots of now.  
  
He didn’t eat solid food yet, but he could hold the nutritional drinks by himself and finished them too. The meds helped a great deal, since they gradually made him a little bit more stable and as an effect of the emotional calmness, his body started to co-operate better. Another effect, was an increased crying from anything even remotely sensitive. It literally felt like simultaneously having every single emotion he could think of, mixed together in a huge mess and all he could do, was cry, which was strange since Juice didn’t know _how_ he really felt about the memories. Fortunately, Papi or Daddy were there to hold him through those confusing moments.  
  
One morning when Papi had spent the night at home and came to the ward after breakfast so Daddy could go for a walk, he had a block and watercolors with him. Juice was sitting up in bed and looked with skepticism at the items.  
  
“Is… is it allowed in here, Papi? I mean… the stains?”  
“The only fabrics more sturdy than hospital linen when it comes to stains, is army canvas, baby boy. And while squeezing medicine balls is all good for your throttle hand and keyboard fingers, I think we need to add some colors to this room.”  
  
Papi poured some water in a plastic cup and removed the finished breakfast tray from the bed table.  
  
“You’re sitting comfortably, baby boy?”  
“Yes, Papi.”  
  
After tearing an ark for himself, Papi placed the block in front of Juice and opened the box with watercolors. There were a lot of them and difficult to choose. He gave Juice a brush and then he took the other.  
  
“I’m just gonna make a rainbow, I think… Maybe some flowers too… What about you, baby boy?”  
“I… don’t relly know, Papi. Haven’t done this since school.”  
“Me neither and from what I recall, my arts teacher only gave me a B- because I was so good with makeup. Otherwise I would’ve gotten a C+. At best.”  
“S’not possible you weren’t good at arts, Papi.”  
“Oh yeah? I was a disaster in both arts and home echonomics.”  
“No way!”  
  
He was honestly a little shocked and Papi chuckled.  
  
“Fortyfive minutes of arts and ninety of making scrambled eggs and muffins a week would make even Martha Stewart look like a failure, my love. Not everyone learns the best in a school environment. Mom taught me how to cook, sew and manage a home. Not that I was any good at it myself until I was in my mid twenties, but despite what my arts teacher thought about my coal drawings and clay sculptures that just fell apart, I still liked it.”  
  
It was interesting to hear about Papi’s life, especially the nicer things. Juice looked at the colors and dipped the brush in water. There were several nuances of blue and he picked a pretty dark one that reminded of one of Papi’s checkered shirts. He could do a sky, perhaps…  
  
He’d never liked darkness inside. Dark rooms meant being locked away, with nightmares almost guaranteed if he fell asleep. Outside was another matter. Juice thought about his nightly rides on the highway, how he’d shooted onto the horizon before dawn. The stars still clinging on, the sky gargantual and shifting from almost light blue to pitch dark marine. He recalled how he, once he had to stop to rest, would do so some place where he could spread out in grass and just keep looking at the sky, seeing the moon in whatever fase it was in…  Just a white sliver, or a bright fullmoon, all the way from white to warm yellow or even the red one that looked like a giant red grapefruit.  
  
Outside darkness was never scary. The sky would shift with the hours passing, the moon and stars replacing the sun temporarily and make it possible to see. Juice put the brush down and looked at the circle he’d left in the middle.  
  
“Baby boy?”  
  
Juice felt tears again, but he didn’t feel anxious. Not that he’d know if he did.  
  
“Dixie… She ran away once.”  
“The dog?”  
“Yeah… Pitbull. My foster sister, Jenna, she was taking her for the evening walk and then another dog, unleashed, don’t know which kind, started chasing them. Dixie, she panicked and started running and Jenna couldn’t hold on. Her dad got so mad…”  
“He punished her?”  
“No. He was mad with the other owner. Then he sent me out to look for Dixie. Told me not to come back without her.”  
  
He gave a small laughter.  
  
“It was freezing cold that night, at least _I_ thought it was. Should’ve ran away but I had nothing with me except for my clothes. And no jacket either.”  
“Did you find Dixie?”  
“Yeah, actually I did… She had this field she loved to play on. Was far away from our house, so I had to walk for hours, but I knew she’d be there. Sounds strange, I guess, but I just _knew_ , Papi. And when I did, she was on that field and… when I called, she came running like crazy, wawing her tail and just jumping on me so I fell on the ground.”  
  
The grass, the cold air, the pantings from a pitbull who was so damn happy to see him, licking his face all over, tail wawing madly and nothing but the great blue sky watching. No thin mattress on a hard floor, but soft grass. No manmade darkness, but countless stars and a huge moon.  
  
“Was fullmoon that night, Papi. And… and so many stars. Didn’t care it was cold, Papi, or that I’d get my ass kicked when I got home. I just wanted to stay there with Dixie, so I did. All night. Went back home like six in the morning, or something.”  
  
He smiled at the memory.  
  
“You know… Orson didn’t actually punish me that time. Think he was just glad to have the dog back, even if I’d been out all night.”  
“So what happened when you came home, Juicy?”  
“Got some warm milk and then I went to bed, with Dixie. She’d been out running around for so long, she was exhausted, you know. And they let her sleep with me. Even got an extra blanket and I got to sleep all day.”  
  
That lump in his throat was back now, hurting a little as he tried to swallow it down. The colors on his drawing were still wet.  
  
“Was probably the nicest thing that family ever did to me. Letting me sleep that day, with Dixie. And I dreamt about that sky afterwards, Papi. Helped me to sleep better, thinking of the field and the moon and stars and everything. Was almost… kinda happy.”


	117. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're jumping ahead a little bit, a day or two, and Filip has just come home after his "shift" at the hospital.

Thank God for his husband. Filip was the first to admit that Ronea could be a handful to live with at times, but the way this intelligent, witty man could coax out information from Juice without even making it look like that’s what he was doing, was a weapon Filip gladly accepted, even when pointed at himself. Manipulation at it’s finest, which should be worrying, but Filip knew Ronea inside out and knew that his level of manipulation never went further than to a point where Filip still easily could see what was going on.  
  
With the watercolor picture as a sample, Ronea had used his afternoon off Juice duty, to shop for either paint or wallpapers and when it was Filip’s turn to go home for a few hours, there were a bucket of blue paint marked “roof”, several rolls of green wallpaper as well as a box with self-adhesive plastic stars laying on the floor in Juice’s room. In a paper bag there was another box and when Filip unpacked it, he found an entirly round lamp and a loose wooden frame that served as foot. A moonshaped nightlamp, in fact, and Filip smiled, realising how Ronea was thinking.  
  
“Ye cunny bastard…”  
  
It was a brilliant idea for the room, really. It was big enough to not get too dark and the colors were soothing and natural. The window would let in lots of light too and Ronea would probably make some light lace curtains. Not quite what Filip had thought Juice’s room would look like, but not bad at all. Ronea had already done the clearcole and covered the floor with brown paper.   
  
Filip put some coffee on, changed into his oldest rags and fetched the small cd player along with a bunch of records to the room. He’d not done this as much as Ronea, but he could paint a room properly, especially since everything was already prepared. All said and done, hair tucked away under a bandana and a huge cup of coffee steaming, Filip got to work, accompanied by what Ronea called “old man’s lamention”: Leonard Cohen.  
  
It was nice, more than, even if it wasn’t too good for his neck to bend backwards this long. Filip would stop and roll and crack it in regularly interwalls, as the base of the indoor sky took form. The room no longer smelled musty from being unused and closed for so long. The air floated with scents of fresh paint, coffee and the air coming from the small chink by the paper covered window.   
  
While it wasn’t really true, Filip felt like he was actually _doing_ something for Juice for the first time in weeks. Something more than just keeping him from tripping over the edge to actual insanity. This wasn’t rehabilitation or sick care or even nursing, but something that _all_ of Juice, no matter which state of mind he was in, could benefit from. Once the painting was done and it was time to decorate it, it could be a small child’s room for a while, if that was what Juice needed, and then they could change it once he “grew up”, step by step until it was a place that suited their grown-up family member.  
  
Usually, Filip wasn’t one for daydreaming, being the practical and slitghtly cynical person he was, but dreaming on behalf of Juice, apparantly, came naturally to him right now as he worked on the roof. The room was really large and with a screen or drapery of some sort, it could be devided into a sleeping area and a day area. Perhaps the sleeping area could be furnitured and decorated to suit Little Juice and the day area fitting his adult side. There’d be plenty of space for his tech stuff, they could put up several shelves on both sides of the room and with a little desk and drawers, there’d be room for all his adult stuff like for bills, covers and important papers.  
  
The Little Juice part of the room would, of course, have the nightlamp, Mr. Bunny, the nappies and any other stuff that part of their lover would need. And if and when he grew out of that phase a little more, which he probably would when he healed more, the nappies would go and Juice could slowly incorporate some of his Little side into his adult one.   
  
A couch would fit easily, as would Juice’s TV and video games. He could get a little refrigerator of his own and a coffee maker, _if_ he wanted to. Later, probably, Filip mused as he cracked his neck again and realised he’d been so caught up in the work and dreams about the future, he’d forgotten his own cup of black gold.   
  
As he grabbed it and took a sip, it was almost cold, but in this moment it tasted even better than Ronea’s. Not that Filip would ever tell him _that._ He was a softie, not a complete idiot.


	118. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spaces are made to last.

It was really dark, but as he removed the paper from the window and the sun shined on the floorboards, Ronea couldn’t help but grin widely to himself. They’d taken turns working on it for several days now and as Juice now got physically better in a quite rapid pace, his room was taking form for real too.   
  
They’d started to leave notes with things they’d worked on as well as ideas and thoughts, placing them on the floor for each other to read before going on with the work. Since Juice was awake much more now, it wasn’t always as easy for Ronea and Filip to discuss his room at the hospital, which actually was the only place they met right now. Week three was almost over now and finally, Juice could use the bathroom with just a little assistance and walk shorter distances without crutches. Diapers were a nightly thing only now and Juice had even started to eat some solid food.  
  
Ronea put down the paint buckets from the stool and sat down by the window. It felt a little strange to look out from this angle, as he’d so rarely used this room other as a storage. Filip used to nag about it, until Ronea reminded him about the mess in the back of the garage. Now it seemed obvious why it had been so difficult to fix it up. Neither of them had had any real use for it and it was such a large space it just looked too desolate to use as a guestroom.   
  
There were no furniture in there yet, but the moss green walls and night sky ceiling with the luminescent stars already made it look a lot more welcoming. Ronea went for a bulb and then took up the nightlamp from it’s box. When he put it on the windowsill and lit it, the room immediately became a lot more welcoming, despite the lack of furniture.   
  
Ronea leaned back onto the windowsill and looked around the room, feeling warm of happiness all of a sudden. It was an unusual feeling these days and he got goosebumps from it, that little startle of joy this project gave him.   
  
Somewhere in his rational mind, Ronea knew there was a slight chance that Juice might not like this at all, but while he was uncertain of a lot of things concearning his boy, the room wasn’t among them. Juice had never learnt how it was to have a space of his own in a house with other people and the alexithymia made it so difficult for him to picture what he wanted, this wasn’t a game of riddles only for Ronea and Filip, but for Juice himself as well. Probably even more so and when he was cleared to go home for real, there’d not just be a cozy nest waiting for him, but a real room that would be his and his alone.  
  
While most people would probably see it as a contraproductive thing to allow Juice’s child-like, even the babyfied, side expression, a number of talkings with Dr. Huang had convinced Ronea and his husband of the benefits in giving that side some space for now. This wasn’t a psychosis or a personality disorder, but a stress coping mechanism Juice simply wouldn’t feel better by putting a forced end to. He didn’t regress further now and his amount of adult moments were enough to work with for the time being. The most important was to focus on slow and steady progress and guide Juice towards more independence without making such a big deal of it. Big decisions scared the boy a lot and would trigger the confusion, making the alexithymia even worse.  
  
One important thing was the fact that Juice’s Little side only showed with Ronea and Filip. With the hospital staff, he was an adult with mental problems that made him dependent on others to get better, but the moments when he was alone with his Daddies, he was almost always Little Juice with Mr. Bunny as a fluffy shield against rejection. It was very common for young children who felt ashamed and/or afraid, to project their “bad” thoughts and feelings onto stuffed animals or imaginary friends, Dr. Hwang had explained, and the technique was also used as a communication tool in child psychiatry.  
  
Concearning other things than walls and furniture in this Little Juice room, it was a bit more tricky than choosing colors. The playmat was a given, as well as Mr. Bunny, of course. Same with the changing pad and things belonging to it, as the diapers and napkins, but other than that, Ronea wasn’t really sure what Little Juice would like. He had some stuff spared from his own childhood, as had Filip, but they’d not looked through those boxes in years and a lot of the stuff were things Fred Tully and Patrick Telford found necessary for their sons to grow up to Real Men.  
  
Baseball bats, American and European footballs, sports collection cards, stupid action figures, cars and other typical toys you had if you grew up as a boy in the 70’s. Nothing Juice needed in his current state. Their teddies had been tucked away before either of them turned eight, although Filip used to take his one out from the “hiding place” when he couldn’t sleep, until he turned thirteen. As a five-year-old, Ronea desperately longed for one of those kitchen toy sets you could order from a catalogue and dad got all weird when Ronea told him that he’d ask Santa for it. The catalogue with said kitchen mysteriously disappeared and for Christmas, Ronea got a baseball bat, a glove and a ball. The only thing he liked about that gift, was that once he was done with the obligatory training in the backyard with dad, often on the verge of tears with scraped knees and no idea why this was supposed to be fun, was that mom would let him help out in the kitchen as a reward and dad had no say in it.  
  
Filip’s version of that, was when his dad dragged him to soccer games on Sundays after lunch and once said game was over and the old man took a drink on the local bar, Filip would get coins to the pinball machine and a soda.   
  
Thing was, no matter how conservative their dads had been, Ronea and Filip had had real childhoods to look back onto. They’d not been neglected or abused, they’d had their own spaces, toys and safety. Juice’s safety consisted of a few months with nuns, some kind teachers, the occasional caring strangers, whatever friends he’d hang out with and a dog originally meant to be used as tool to scare him. No human had come to Little – or adult – Juice’s aid for real and made a room for him that was meant to last. Not until now.


	119. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some painful talking in this chapter.

“You’ve made a lot of progress, Juice.”  
  
They were sitting by the small table in the hospital room today and Juice tried to get used to the feeling of normal underwear. He missed the padding from the diaper, realising only now how bony his ass had become, despite the nutritional drinks and bedrest. Papi had adjusted his pants too so that he could wear them without a belt and overall, Juice just felt like he’d shrunken several sizes.   
  
“I look like a child, doc.”  
“You’ve lost a lot of weight. That’s already starting to change for the better, though.”  
  
Juice shrugged. Mr. Bunny was safe in his lap and he pressed the softness to him.  
  
“You’re clutching your tummy, Juice. Do you know why you’re doing that?”  
“Didn’t notice.”  
  
He really didn’t and then he automatically pulled his legs up, heels on the edge of the chair and pressed his knees to the chest, hiding Mr. Bunny and protecting them both.   
  
“Well, I’ve noticed you’re doing that a lot during our sessions. Do you have a stomach ache?”  
“No.”  
“Feeling sick?”  
“No.”  
“Can you feel anything else in the tummy region that’s not pain or sickness?”  
  
Juice sighed and he felt that uncomfortable pull again.  
  
“Un… uncomfortable…?”  
“Your tummy feels uncomfortable?”  
“T’is stupid…”  
“Why would it be stupid to feel uncomfortable in the tummy, Juice?”  
  
This was getting worrying and he clutched his legs now, looking down at his hands.   
  
“No reason…”  
“Sorry, again? I didn’t hear you.”  
“There’s… no reason to…”  
  
The doc frowned and rested his hands in his lap.  
  
“You think you have no reason to feel uncomfortable in the tummy?”  
“Yeah… I mean… Have meds now, right?”  
“Juice, the medicines wont fix everything.”  
“I know.”  
“How about you name one of the things they wont fix? Could you do that?”  
  
The buzz in the stomach increased now and Juice suddenly longed for a diaper. He didn’t tneed to go, he just… He didn’t know. He just didn’t fucking know anything about himself, his body or his feelings. It was probably good he’d get dragged off to the crazy wing soon.  
  
“Juice?”  
  
They’d come for him and if he said no, they’d just drug and restrain him, ‘cause that’s what they did to crazy people. They’d take him away, lock him in one of those rooms with padded walls and there’d be a record of it, that he’d have to reveal if he ever looked for a job. Not that he’d be able to hold one for more than a few weeks…  The buzz turned to something actual painful and as Juice panted from it, he found himself opening his mouth again.  
  
“When…  when are they coming?”  
“Your Daddy is outside and your Papi…”  
“No! No, not Daddy and Papi! _Them!_ ”  
“Who are _them_ , Juice?”  
“The c-crazy docs…”  
“Are you saying that you believe there will come people from the psychiatry and just take you away?”  
“That’s… that’s what happens t-to crazy p-people…”  
“Who told you that, Juice?”  
  
Juice laughed now. It was a scary sound, hollow and yes, _crazy_. Crazy people had to be locked away, for their own sake. They couldn’t have real clothes and it was just as well that _Juan_ practised how it would be like, it was actually a kindness, preparing him for the crazy wing he’d eventually end up at.  
  
The christmas break, summers break… The mandatory head shave, the gown and the plastic cutlery. Pissing and shitting in a bed pan, the stench unbarable in the heat. If he acted crazy, then they’d treat him like one too. That would teach him… _Fix_ him.  
  
“Teach you what? What was that supposed to teach a barely fifteen year old boy, Juice?”  
  
Juice startled. He’d not noticed when or why his thoughts had become loud or what he’d said. This was what happened if he mouthed off. Someone would have to teach him…  
  
“…a lesson…”  
“In what?”  
  
Fuck if he knew. His head was just so loud now and the doc’s voice barely came through.  
  
“Do you know what I think, Juice? I think you were very young when someone first told you that you were wrong. Not just doing something wrong, but _being_ wrong. And I think that at least one grown-up man really put in an effort to make you believe that.”  
  
He whimpered now, didn’t want the doc to continue, but he did.  
  
“I think this man chose to take out his own frustration and weakness onto a vulnerable teenager who just needed to be loved and cared for. I think that man was so weak and immature, he only felt powerful when he could hurt, dominate and humiliate a child. That child, Juice, is sitting right here today, not because he’s the weak one, but because he was strong enough to allow someone to help him.”  
  
Things started to feel dizzy, his head too light, like it would take off, the buzz… He’d cried when Orson brought out the razor the last time, because he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen again and his grades weren’t bad. Not above average, but he’d passed all his classes and he’d not gotten into any trouble for months.   
  
He’d tried to beg, to show the grades, to argue because it wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair that his foster siblings could grow their hair out, no matter their grades or how mouthy they got. Orson hadn’t listened, just grabbed him and when Juice, for some stupid reason tried to get loose, the man had simply punched his stomach and then dragged him to the bathroom, thrown him onto the floor and put a knee in his back.   
  
It wasn’t just a buzzcut, but a complete shave. Baldness, really, and no kid in school or the neighbourhood had that. Only cancer patients and old men with natural hairloss. His foster siblings had their own rooms, lots of stuff, nice clothes and modern haircuts, while he couldn’t have _anything_.   
  
The image changed and Juice felt how he was canvasing the “bad” neighborhood on one of his dog walks a few weeks later. He’d had his hoodie up, covering his face but didn’t feel scared because Dixie wouldn’t let a stranger hurt him.  
  
He’d asked in the small parlor, the one the cool kids in school talked about but never actually seemed to visit. Just an exciting thing to whisper and brag about with your friends. Juice didn’t have friends and no one but Dixie and the darkness to whisper to.   
  
There’d not been any signs, but after a couple of weeks, he’d learned the neighborhood well enough to know where to look and then, one afternoon, he stood there, knocking on an unmarked door with sweaty palms. A girl, only a few years older, had opened and looked suspicously at him while he stuttered out that he was looking for Charlie. At least that was the name he’d snapped up from the cool kids when they thought no one heard them. To his great surprise, the girl had immediately let both him and Dixie in.  
  
Charlie turned out to be a man in his twenties, with more ink than Juice had ever seen on anyone before and eyes that seemed to like what he saw in the scrawny fifteen-year-old. There’d been a problem when Juan had realised how much it would cost because there was no chance in hell he’d get his hands on that kind of money. Was there another way he could pay…? He must’ve looked exactly like the easy prey he was when he’d pleaded with eyes still red-rimmed from the last encounter with Orson.  
  
Then Charlie said perhaps they could arrange something… Friday afternoon, maybe?   
  
Three days with a new kind of anxiety. Anticipation. He behaved, kept a low profile and then, after an allowed afternoon at the park, Juan Carlos didn’t walk straight home but to a parlor where he spent three days and nights getting inked on his skull and smoking pot, sucking cock and getting fucked. Charlie pretty much had free hands as long as he used lube and did the ink. On Tuesday morning, Juan Carlos was sore and hungover and his head had been wrapped enough time to take it off.   
  
He’d given Charlie one more head before leaving…  
  
“And then you went home?”  
“Yeah…”  
“You had Dixie with you?”  
“No, just when I… looked for the place. Didn’t want her in there for hours. In case, you know, she’d feel bad and the cops would start looking.”  
“What happened when you got home?”  
  
Juice laughed again. It didn’t even sound like his own laughter now, but the one of an actual loonie, straitjacket case, crazy grin and all. He was somehow back in the room again, the doc still sitting in front of him.  
  
“You should’ve seen it, doc… His face when he grabbed my beanie. Never seen _anyone_ look so shocked, I swear. It was like… he just didn’t know what to do, like he’d literally never seen anything like that coming and I just… I started laughing.”  
  
He shook his head, grinning to the point where his mouth started hurting and he took a deep breath.  
  
“I fucking _laughed_ at him, doc… so…”  
“So what did he do?”  
“A lot. Was told I nearly died. Cracked ribs, ruptured spleen… Really bad concussion. Woke up in the hospital after a few days, don’t remember much, really… Doc pretty much told me it was my own fault.”  
  
The grin got stuck on his mouth, any laughter left dying on spot and he suddenly felt tired. So fucking tired and he looked down on his hands, fingers clutching his elbows now, almost clawlike and the stuffed animal that wasn’t the original Mr. Bunny but a replacement for something that he’d never get back.   
  
Juice sighed, only now realising he was soaked in sweat, the ridiculously small pants plastered around his legs. He didn’t know what he’d actually said out loud and what had remained in his head. For once, he didn’t even care, had even forgotten about the crazy wing, but for some reason he cared about something else.  
  
“Jus’ because I can sorta use kids clothes, doesn’t mean I’m a kid anymore, doc.”  
“Were you ever allowed to be one?”


	120. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy gets emotional with his lil' one.

The lad who’d sat down to talk with the doc, had been a fairly calm one, aware of his surroundings and almost a little secure in the way he acted. The one Dr. Huang showed Filip into, was a sweat drenched, exhausted pile of shivering bones under a thin layer of flesh. At first, Filip’s instinct was to grab the doc by his white coat and drag him outside for a little Telford branded session of talking, but Juice’s needs, of course, always came first.  
  
That’s why, instead of “screaming in Scottish”, as a certain husband sometimes called Filip’s way of barking at people, he had taken the wet, shaking boy in his arms and carried him to the bathroom for a warm shower and a change of clothes before putting him to bed for a cuddle and a bottle. Juice was so lost right now, the nurse Filip had handled the bottle to, hadn’t even blinked and went and returned with warm nutritional drink in it. By then, Filip had already swirled one of the soft “nest” blankets around his lad and arranged them both on the bed so that he could help feeding him.  
  
Due to confidentiality, Dr. Huang of course couldn’t tell what they’d talked about at the session, but he did assure Filip that it wasn’t a backlash in any way. It wasn’t much of a comfort, really, considering how Juice clung onto him now, sucking intensely on the bottle, more out of an attempt to self-comfort than actual hunger.  
  
Once it was finished, Filip carefully replaced it with the pacifier and then just rocked the lad slowly. The dark places his lover went to these days… Filip wished nothing more than to follow him there, like he’d managed to do with Ronea in the past. He’d never been scared for himself while trying to keep at least a part of his husband’s mind in the now during those moments. The demons from Ronea’s past hadn’t frightened him, only made him angry and more determined to crush them. The feeling he had with Juice’s pain was very much the same. It was an instinct, really, one he’d had ever since meeting Ronea for the first time: that absolute need to care for the beautiful, loving and badly hurt human being who’d somehow crossed paths with him.  
  
It was a privilege being allowed to see, not to mention tend to, another person’s deepest wounds. A sign of fragile trust that you had to keep on earning, every day as it hopefully grew stronger and the person you loved and tended to, learned that he was indeed not just worthy of healing, but of being loved no matter what. Ronea had been deeply loved by his mother and, still was, in Fred Tully’s detached and suppressed way, just as loved by his father, even if they rarely spoke and even more rarely met.  
  
Patrick Telford drunk and miserable arse was even worse and Filip honestly didn’t know if he’d ever been able to stand the sort of stalemate situation their so called relationship had turned into, had it not been for Ronea’s support.  
  
Juice made a small sound, akin to a whimper and Filip immediately turned to kiss his hair.  
  
“S’alright, lil’ one. Daddy’s here, laddie, an’ we’re gonnae get ye through this an’ out on a better side, ye hear tha’?”  
  
The lad turned his face into Filip’s chest.  
  
“What’s… gonna happen with me, Daddy?”  
“What do ye mean, lovey?”  
“A-after… this…”  
“Ye mean once ye’re released from hospital? Well, then ye’re coming home, of course.”  
  
There was a sob, a shiver and Juice’s breath seemed strained again.  
  
“H-home where?”  
“Home with _us_ , of course. With Daddy an’ Papi. House is so empty without our Juicyboy.”  
“W-with you…?”  
“Aye, of course, lil’ one. Ye’re our family, no matter if ye’re Big or Little Juice, lovey. Ye know wha’… we’re preparing a welcome home gift for ye an’ once ye’re released from hospital, ye’ll come _home_. Home as in our home, laddie. For all three of us.”  
  
The lad sighed, crying now and wetting Filip’s shirt with his tears.  
  
“Wh-what if… you… ch-change your m-mind?”  
“Oh, Juicyboy…”  
  
As sad as this was, Juice not being able to fathom that he was family to them, Filip understood the reasons much better now and no longer got frustrated, confused or felt mistrusted from Juice’s display of suspicion. He kissed the soft hair, nuzzling it for emphasis. For himself or Juice, he didn’t know.  
  
“ _We love ye_ , Juicy. We _love ye_ deeply an’ love doesn’t work tha’ way. Ye don’ jus’ suddenly change yer mind like a teenager who has a hormone spiked crush. Real love has very little to do with tha’ kind o’ carefree rush tha’ can be affected by mood swings or whatever. I’ve had plenty o’ crushes, darlin’, but when I met Papi, I very quickly fell in love. I dinnae _choose_ to stay with him, I jus’ loved him far too much not to. Even when he was hurting himself an’ had nightmares every night or ran away an’ I went out looking, fearing I might even find him dead, an’ I was angry an’ hurt too, with the bastard who hurt him, with him for not trusting me an’ with myself for being angry with him when it wasn’t his fault. Even then I loved'im jus' as much.”  
  
Filip swallowed.  
  
“Without ye, both o’ ye, _I’m_ not whole, Juicy, an’ I still have few words to describe the love I have for ye, lil’ one. I’ve spent almost 24 years with _one_ man an’ there was never another, not once, until ye came along, an’ I know Papi feels the same. We’ve had some sexual partners, aye, but with ye… oh, lovey, we don’ see ye as some broken toy we’re trying to fix so we can have fun again. Tha' kind o' fun is jus’ _one_ part o’ ye, jus’ one part o’ our relationship. An’ in a way, we’re really scared too, laddie.”  
“How?”  
  
The lad’s voice was small but calm now, which meant he was actually listening and able to digest at least some of what Filip was trying to tell him. Filip stroke his tense shoulders.  
  
“Because ye’re the love o’ _our_ life, lil’ one, an’ loosing ye, for any reason, would break our hearts. The form o’ our relationship can shift, tha’ happens with a lot o’ relationships, it has with mine an’ Papi’s several times, since it’s a normal way o’ growing together. Ye change an’ ye learn to love an’ live with those changes, yer own an’ yer partner’s. Of course, there are times when the changes are too great to work out, but I can assure ye, lovey, tha’ I cannae see tha’ happen with us.”  
“But you can’t _know_.”  
  
Filip now moved to look at him properly, feeling his eyes tensing.  
  
“No, but tha’s the difficult an’ also beautiful thing with love, Juice. Ye cannae control it, ye jus’ have to learn to live with it, because no matter how painful an’ scary it can be at times, the alternative is a life _without_ love an’ tha’s like being on life support, without ever getting to actual live.”  
  
There was a shiver in his voice and the lad saw the tear before it fell. He reached out, put his thumb under Filip’s eye and caught the wetness. Then he removed his pacifier and looked Filip in the eye.  
  
“J-juice wont l-leave Daddy or Papi, Daddy. Juice p-promises.”


	121. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know at least one reader has waited for this chapter, so I hope Papi's style is to your taste ;)

Was it necessary? Probably not. Excessive? Absolutely. Self-indulgent? Oh, fuck yeah, it was, and Ronea carefully sorted and put the receipts in his folder for possible refunds in his household budget plastic pocket before adding a reminder in his phone calender. While Filip had given him pretty much free hands with Juice’s room and Ronea was in charge of their finances, the bags he’d just brought in from the car – not to mention the boxes already delivered – could possibly give his husband a heart attack. Oh well, Ronea had a functioning phone, lots of aspirin and knew CPR almost as well as his husband. Filip would be alive but upset – and most definitely hand out a very thorough spanking – but for once Ronea couldn’t find it in him to feel any regrets.  
  
He put the folder away on the shelf and returned to Juice’s room. Rigging the bed was first on the list and Ronea got onto it with an enthusiasm that may or may not be a bit inappropriate, but what was new with that?  
  
Slowly but steadily, the previous left over space was transformed into what was essentially a hybrid of a kid’s room and a teen space with a small part of adulthood preserved in a corner that, for now, would be separated with a screen. The bed was a double with a mattress that would be really good for his boy’s tense back and, most important, big enough for two people in case Juice felt lonely once he’d re-learned to sleep on his own sometimes.  
  
The bedtable had a locker where meds could be stored, and on top a silly, heart-shaped alarm clock and a reading lamp. Ronea made the bed with plenty of pillows and a warm duvet, white sleeping sheet and pillow cases with a pattern of green shamrocks and then went to get another little secret he’d not even told his husband about. Hidden in his closet, Ronea had a patchwork bed cover in blue, green, white and brown that he’d been working on in absolute solitude ever since Juice had agreed to live with them. It had been finished only a couple of days earlier and now Ronea fetched it and spread it over the bed.  
  
Some laced cushions in white and a knitted wollen blanket, neatly folded by the foot end, finished the work and yes, he’d absolutely taste the rod, probably even the ginger for making the project this huge without consulting Filip. Not that his strict husband didn’t think Juice deserved the best, or would force Ronea to return anything or even object much about the money, but it was the principle.  
  
The bookshelf was another thing Ronea couldn’t help but absolutely love about the room. Many of the books he put on the shelves, were real bargains he’d found on various second hand stores and even backyard sales. Grimm’s and Beatrix Potter’s fairytales, the entire Brambly Hedge collection and, of course, Winnie The Pooh. No modern childrens books though, since those probably wouldn’t suit his boy, no matter what age he felt like. The classics suited any age group.  
  
Next to the bookshelf, Ronea placed a sofa with pillows and a blanket, as well as a floor lamp. This would be a reading corner and on the other side of the window, a new changing mat and some discrete rattan baskets containing diapers, wash cloths and other things required for changes. The last thing he added for now, was a music box shaped like Totoro, the Studio Ghibli character, that played several songs from the various movies.  
  
Looking around the room just made Ronea ridiculously happy. The only things lacking now, were the rest of Juice’s clothes, some framed pictures and Mr. Bunny. Every last dime spent had come from Ronea’s own money, not the household budget, and Filip would still be upset, at least for half an hour, or so, before he’d allow himself to melt. One tops... Ronea put the music box on, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the music box: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhlU4-LFV_4


	122. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly different chapter, from a 2:nd pov, but still about Juice.

How do you tell anyone your deepest secret? The one you’re barely able to look at yourself, because of the shame. Not some kinky stuff, but a desire so well-hidden you’ve almost made yourself unaware of it. That fragile thing buried deep underneath every layer possible to protect it from the eventual harm exposure would cause it. A thing you can’t even pick up to hold at your heart out of fear it will break you for good.  
  
You’re not the only one who’s alone. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself for so long, ever since you were a truly _little_ one. You’ve repeated that truth for yourself in the silence and darkness, to feel less alone. To try and somehow connect with all the other thousands, perhaps millions of lonely souls out there. The other kids crying themselves to sleep, bodies sore from beating and hearts wounded from broken promises. There are those who’re so much worse off than you.  
  
As if that notion could make your own bruises heal, your tears unshed and turn your survival into life. In the darkness, there are no wounds but your own and licking them only helps for a while. Soon enough, it’ll just itch.  
  
You don’t know, lil’ one, if your mother loved you. While no one really could know for sure, those who’d seen her at the motel were pretty certain she was a teen. Sixteen, maybe even fifteen or fourteen. No one looked that close at the fat girl in a big coat. She was sober and paid in cash, who’d look twice at the shape of her belly?  
  
Teresa Ortiz. Juan Carlos Ortiz. Father unknown. Your mother, lil’ one, was just a kid herself and she delivered you alone, she left alone, left _you_ alone. Not thrown away to be forgotten or left to die, but cleaned, fed and tucked in. She gave you a name, lil’ one, fed you from her own breast and once you’d fallen asleep, tiny little creature barely hours old in this world, she walked away, thinking it would be better. For her, for you. But you were someone to her and the name stuck.   
  
You’ve often wondered if you were named after your father, or maybe a grandfather or uncle. Someone connected to you by blood, important enough to your mother, that she’d name her son after him. If she left you, not because she didn’t want you, but because she thought you’d have a better life without her. When you laid forgotten in a crib, your tiny screams drowned in other voices, muffled by a closed door, was she thinking of her son at all? Or did she move on with her life, not looking back and then, later when she was older and got a steady relationship, got another child, this time with a man who wanted it?  
  
Perhaps it’s sometimes better not to know.  
  
While you’ve survived so much, lil’ one, so many people have called you weak. People who have no idea how it feels to starve, to freeze through the night, to lay curled up in fetal position to try and numb the gnawing hunger, thaw the cold and soothe the angry red stripes and bloated bruises covering your body.  
  
Oh, you worn-out, out-numbered and wounded little warrior. You’ve hurt so much but there’s finally a resting place for you now. Arms opening, lips smiling and eyes looking – just for you. Yes, those tender words whispered, they’re meant for _you_ , lil’ one. That buried need you’ve kept away, has slowly been digging it’s way up, ever since you woke up in those roses and the men who hadn’t asked for that gift, who didn’t know it was one, saw something else than the trash you’d learned you were.  
  
Others had thrown you away, but they picked you up.  
  
You, oh, lil’ one who were forced to grow up too fast, all you ever wanted, what you still want, is to be loved. That’s your deepest secret, isn’t it? The one noone was supposed to know about and therefor, of course, could never make come true. And the fact that there are so many more people just as alone as you, doesn’t make _your_ loneliness less lonely. That’s the beauty of it, right? The wicked cruelty of loneliness.   
  
The longing you’re bearing like a cross on your back, has gotten heavier over the years, slowly grinding you down in a pace you didn’t even notice. Your smile slowly getting stiffer, your laughter more forced and the mask on your face growing into your very skin. Trying to remove it means parts of your true face will follow and leave you skinned, your flesh all red and sore, bleeding underneath and who’s gonna look after that ugly mess? No one. You’re wearing that fucking mask, because how else would anyone be able to handle you. Who’s gonna love you at your darkest, hold you at your lowest, lil’ one?   
  
“Juicyboy… _mo chridhe..._ ”  
  
_My heart._ You remember what it means, that Gaelic endearment the man you call Daddy is saying. Is directing at _you_.   
  
You have a heart, lil’ one. In truth, very few people have handled you as if that’s the case. But the man who’s holding you in his arms now, not only knows you have one, he says you’re _his_ heart. The endearments he has for you are many.   
  
Lad. Laddie. Juicyboy. Kiddo. Darling. _Lil’ one…_ The other man who’s not here at the moment, calls you baby boy, sweetheart, _my little love._ No one’s ever had those kind of names for you. Now they come like air, easy, light and warm. They’re breathing them into you, flowing down to your heart, thawing up that cold you’ve carried around for so long.   
  
All those tears, are they really so surprising or even a secret, lil’ one? After all, ice starts dripping once there’s enough sunshine reaching through. 


	123. Filip/Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're time travelling again, this time with Filip and Ronea as 27- and 23-year-olds and we're also meeting some of their friends. 
> 
> As always, the minor characters in this story will NOT get developed stories of their own. They serve as background material, really, in order to tell our main trio's stories. This is a long chapter, alternating between Filip's and Ronea's POV and of course, there'll be angsty shit.

_Charming, 22 years earlier **  
  
**_**Filip**  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”  
“Ronea, calm down, I…”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m…”  
  
For a short moment, Filip forgot it was his boyfriend who was rocking on the floor at the precinct while the officers looked at him with anything but sympathic eyes. Ronea’s voice was lifeless, almost robotic like and he was so badly scratched it looked like he’d used a shredder on himself. No jacket, no shirt, just a wifebeater and pants, barely held up and his gaze long, long away. Filip looked at the officer closest to the cage.  
  
“He was barefoot an’ without jacket an’ belt when ye took’im in?”  
  
A shrug.  
  
“I didn’t arrest this one, kid.”  
_  
This one?_ _Kid?!_ Filip didn’t know if he was grateful or not that Tig waited outside.  
  
“Then who did, _old man_?”  
“Don’t think I like your attitude, mick.”  
“An’ this Scotsman doesn’t give a shite. Why’s noone helped with the scratches, huh?”  
“Busy night. Didn’t look like he was about to die.”  
“Where’s his belt?”  
“Standard procedure. Hey, Nelson, would you go get the rocker’s stuff?”  
  
Filip barely managed to stop himself from showing his teeth to the dumb ass officer and just nodded at the cell.  
  
“Could ye let’im out, please? He’s hurt.”  
“You gotta wait in line like everyone else, kid.”  
  
This wasn’t the right time to teach some cop who was full of himself as well as of shite. That arsehole would just love to throw a gay mick in a cell far away from the “rocker boyfriend” and Filip wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. He forced his voice to sound calm.  
  
“Ye found his card, righ’?”  
“What card?”  
“He’s got a PTSD card around his neck an’ one in his wallet. Tha’s how ye got my number, righ’?”  
“We just ran his name for his home address, kid. You’re his brother or roomie or…?”  
“I’m his partner an’ ye gotta lemme in to’im now, ‘cause he’s about to have a flashback, sir.”  
“Looks a bit young for a war vet.”  
“Don’ have to be a war vet to get PTSD, sir. He’s got a card.”  
  
Ronea was rocking on the floor, trying to muffle his rambling and he kept scratching himself and constantly rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had been. This was really bad and Filip had no time for this useless discussion with an officer on a power trip. This was so humiliating and painful for his boyfriend.  
  
“Please, sir, he’s been through hell an’ cuffs make’im freak out.”  
“A little game going too far, huh?”  
“Try torture that nearly killed him.”  
  
The officer at least didn’t look like he was about to joke it off and Filip swallowed.  
  
“Please, take the cuffs off an’ lemme in to’im. Jus’ look at the card! He needs his meds.”  
  
And he needed his boyfriend to hold and comfort him. The last thing he needed, was for Filip to start a fight of some sort right now. Revenge was, after all, a dish best served cold and Filip wasn’t one to forget a uniformed arsehole of this magnitude. For Ronea’s sake, he looked at the cop with the most sincere and pleading gaze possible.  
  
“ _Please_ , sir, I _beg_ ye. Don’ ye have enough paperwork an’ reports already to deal with something I can help ye out with? He’s not gonnae talk or calm down unless ye lemme inside so I can hold’im a bit an’ give’im his meds. He really has PTSD, sir, an’ this isn’t helping.”  
  
A shrug.  
  
“Whatever, kid.”  
  
The arsehole took out his keys, as if it was nothing and Filip realised he’d just wanted for Filip to beg long enough. He’d deal with that shite later, right now it was all about trying to calm Ronea. He had to leave all things but his clothes and one pill from Ronea’s meds in a box, which Filip knew wasn’t standard procedure, but he didn’t care. The moment he was let inside the cage with a small cup of water, Ronea was too far gone to even look up and Filip sank down on the floor, not too close.  
  
“Hey, lovey… T’is me, Ronea. T’is Filip, darlin’. Ye reckognize me, aye?”  
  
Thank God, the arsehole didn’t interfer, nor did the other cop, and Filip spent a couple of minutes just talking with a soothing, calm voice.  
  
“Ye’re alright, baby, ye’re not back there an’ Aaron’s not here, never was. Ye’re having a flashback, _mo chridhe._ *”  
  
That did it. The Gaelic expression Filip was absolutely sure his boyfriend had never heard anyone else say. Ronea slowly looked up, pupils dilated from fear but he did seem to actually focuse a little now. Filip was sitting very still and slowly smiled, doing his best to look as harmless as possible, since he didn’t really know what or whom Ronea saw.  
  
“Lovey, I’m here now, everything’s gonnae be alright, _mo chridhe. Tha gaol agam ort**,_ baby.”  
“Filip…?”  
  
He wanted to cry by how small his boyfriend’s voice was. Instead he smiled.  
  
“Aye, lovey, s’me. Wannae touch my face an’ feel for yerself?”  
  
In snail pace, Ronea lifted a hand and moved forward. Filip didn’t dare to move to hurry it up, so Ronea had to reach quite far, but eventually he put a sweaty, scraped hand onto Filip’s cheek, tracing the line of the scar and took a deep breath. Filip looked into the angstridden eyes that kept focuse a bit more by every second.  
  
“Ye reckognize me, _mo chridhe_?”  
  
Slow nod.  
  
“You’re here… Filip…”  
“Aye. I am.”  
“Make it stop…”  
  
God, this was… Ronea’s pain was seeping out of every pore, he wasn’t completely lost in the flashback, but not nearly close to get out of it yet. Filip felt his own body tensing, the strain getting worse and he slowly lifted his own hand to put on Ronea’s over his cheek.  
  
“Ye feel my hand, lovey?”  
“Yeah…”  
“Good. Tha’s really good, Ronea. Now, I have yer meds righ’ here in my other hand an’ a cup o’ water.”  
“Where’s he?”  
“The officer is outside the cell, lovey.”  
“Aaron…”  
“Aaron’s not here, Ronea. The cops cuffed ye an’ triggered a flashback, but Aaron’s not here, he cannae hurt ye anymore, I’ve got ye.”  
“He… he was here…”  
“No, no, lovey. Ye had a flashback, but he wasn’t there an’ he’s not here. Aint gonnae let’im hurt ye anymore an’ ye know tha’ cops have cuffs, righ’? S’part o’ their uniform an’ the officer who cuffed ye dinnae know it would trigger a flashback. He dinnae mean to hurt ye, baby.”  
“Hate cuffs…”  
“I know, darlin’, I know… But ye’re not cuffed now an’ I wan’ ye to take yer med an’ some water now, okay? S'gonnae feel better within minutes, I promise.”  
  
The small paper cup was barely half full, another assholish thing from the officers, but Ronea managed to swallow his pill. Filip put the cup away and sat down crosslegged next to him, still with Ronea’s hand on his cheek.  
  
“There ye go, lovey… Ye’re doing great, _mo chridhe._ Can I hold ye?”  
  
A tiny nod, anxious looks around the cell, at the bars and the officers looking at them. Filip carefully moved Ronea’s head back to face him again.  
  
“Don’ think about’em, alright. I’m here now, darlin’, I’m right here with ye an’ if ye wan’ me to, I’ll hold ye, aye?”  
  
Finally, his boyfriend leaned into his arms and Filip pulled him close, gently and slowly, feeling how Ronea was practcially radiating from stress and fear. Filip nuzzled his neck.  
  
“S’alright, baby. I’ve got ye… I’m protecting ye, darlin’…”  
  
He was whispering, didn’t need those cops to hear more of this sappy talking than necessary. But it wasn’t just a new couple’s romantic bubble. It was the most effective tool yet to get Ronea out of the flashback. The slow, gentle touches, an overload of kind words spoken to him in as soft a voice Filip could manage.  
  
“My baby… my lil’ baby…”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”  
“Shh, hey… Ye’ve not done anything wrong, Ronea. Nothing to be sorry for, alright? This isn’t yer fault, ye hear me?”  
“Hey, Chibs… you two okay?”  
  
Filip turned around and saw Tig, together with Bobby, outside the bars, calm as a cucumber with the not so calm arsehole officer close.  
  
“Aye…”  
  
Which was a lie, of course, but Tig knew that already. He was chewing on a gum and grinned at the cop.  
  
“You look familiar, officer. Have we met?”  
“I don’t think so, no.”  
“Strange. I could swear I saw you at Black Pearl karaoke night.”  
“You’re mistaken.”  
“You’re sure? You look an _awful_ lot like that queen stud doing ‘Like a virgin’ like a pro.”  
“Not me.”  
  
Tig shrugged and then gave his most flirtatious smile.  
  
“Pity. Well, in any case, if you have any problem with the car you should give me a call. Teller-Morrow is the place to go, just ask our VP in the cage. Or your boss. That is, of course, if you don’t waste tax money on arresting people for having PTSD.”  
  
Filip would’ve laughed had it been any other situation. Teller-Morrow was the best MC and car shop within miles and John Teller had a special discount for cops who were known to be nice guys. Those who weren’t, not only got no discount, but often had to wait longer too. The arsheole looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.  
  
“I’ll have to make a call.”  
  
Tig smiled again.  
  
“You do what you gotta do, stud.”  
  
Bobby shook his head as the arshole left.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Tig…”  
“What?”  
  
Bobby ignored the fake innocence and turned to Ronea.  
  
“You okay, darling?”  
  
Ronea tried to smile. At least he seemed calm enough to reckognize his surroundings now.  
  
“Been better, Bobby.”  
“You’ll be alright, Ronea. As soon as the little pigs are done playing tough guys, we’ll get the hell out of here.”  
  
Filip huffed.  
  
“Hopefully before Tig tries to seduce the blond one. Venus’ gonnae chew our balls off if we don’ keep an eye on’im.”  
“She’d just want to share, Chibs, and you know it.”  
  
Bobby groaned.  
  
“Please, spare us the details, you damn freak.”  
  
Ronea seemed to feel better by just hearing familiar voices. Filip’s, of course, but also Bobby’s and Tig’s. Filip kissed his hair.  
  
“Ye reckognize’em, lovey?”  
“Yeah… Bobby and Tig…”  
“Tha’s righ’, baby. They’re here for us, ye know. Both of us.”  
  
It felt like they’d listened to an endless stream of nonsense from Tig, when the arsehole officer came back, looking rather stressed as he mumbled that he’d release Mr. Tully and he wasn’t charged with anything, since, increadibly enough, not being able to walk in a straight line on Main Street was no crime. Whoever had answered the call, must’ve lectured the cop pretty bad, since the attitude was all but gone now.  
  
Of course, said asshole couldn’t help but giving them his disapproving looks as he returned Ronea’s shoes and other stuff. As Filip put his arm around his boyfriend to leave, the arsehole huffed.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point.”  
  
Filip looked firmly at him and then kissed Ronea’s cheek.  
  
“Aye. An’ the next time ye get a problem with tha’ cheap arse car o’ yers, ye better remember tha’ we charge extra for rude behavior.”  
“And that we give our _friends_ in uniform a discount.”  
  
Bobby’s emphasis didn’t escape the arsehole and finally, they were free to leave.  
  
  
**Ronea**  
Ronea was so wornout by the time Bobby turned in on Teller-Morrow’s backyard, it was a small wonder he could even get out of the car. Tig was already there, of course, as he’d been riding Filip’s bike back and John Teller waited by the garage. He patted Tig’s shoulder, then Bobby’s and hugged Filip. Ronea didn’t really know the club pres that well and this wasn’t exactly the best moment for a get to know session.  
  
John looked like he came straight from the bar and smelled like it too as Ronea went out on the backyard on not too steady legs. Filip, thank God, slung an arm around him.  
  
“John, ye’ve met my Ronea. Lovey, ye remember my pres?”  
“Welcome to the club house, doll. You want a drink?”  
  
Filip cleared his throat.  
  
“Don’ think tha’s a good idea righ’ now, pres. Dorm’s not full, righ’?”  
“Not your room. Alright, if you need anything, just shout.”  
“Thanks, pres.”  
“No problems,Chibs. Nice to meet you too, doll.”  
  
As the quite drunk man reeled off to take a piss or something, Filip gently tugged Ronea along into the club house, quickly turning to the dorms to avoid people. He opened his usual crash room and hung the _occupied_ sign on the knob. Ronea was shaking and Filip closed the door, lit the weak roof lamp and lead him to the bed.  
  
“Sit down, aye, lovey?”  
  
Ronea obeyed and Filip started helping him off with his shoes and socks and then his jacket and shirt. It hurt and Ronea whimpered a little as the sweaty, plastered fabrics came off from the scratched arms and Filip swept him in a blanket from the bed before helping him to lay down. Ronea immediately curled himself to a ball, knees pressed onto his chest and hugged his arms around them. Filip tucked another blanket around him and kissed his hair.  
  
“Ye wan’ me to lay down with ye, baby?”  
  
He managed a small nod and got another kiss, this time on his forehead.  
  
“Okay, darlin’, scoot in a lil’ bit. There ye go… Ye know where ye are, Ronea?”  
“Clubhouse.”  
“Aye. An’ where in the clubhouse?”  
“Dorm.”  
“Aye, tha’s righ’. There’s a party going on, but they wont disturbe us, lovey. An’ no one can hurt ye, ye’re completely safe. We’ll lay down for a bit an’ then I’ll tend to yer arms, alright?”  
  
He wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, how he’d ended up at the precinct, but he did remember the cuffs and Ronea felt a sob wreck his body as he started crying. He couldn’t recall when last he’d felt this miserable, so out of touch with reality and himself and just everything.  
  
“H-he was there, Filip… I know he really wasn’t, but he _was_ …”  
“PTSD works tha’ way, lovey. Ye’re not crazy an’ s’not yer fault. Ye remember wha’ happened?”  
“Was… I was taking a walk, the usual lap…”  
“Aye?”  
“Got to the park and then I saw the pigs, they were looking funny at me. So I… I started to walk faster and then I felt dizzy…”  
  
He was panting again now and Filip rubbed his shoulders in soothing circles.  
  
“Take yer time, lovey, no stress… Try an’ breathe with me, slowly… Ye’re doing great, Ronea.”  
“Yelled at me… To stop and I should’ve, but I just _couldn’t_ , Filip, and then he took out the cuffs…”  
  
_Aaron had loved the cuffs._ _At first, Ronea had too._ _Then, as things started to get worse, it wasn’t so fun anymore, which made Aaron even more turned on. First asking, then begging, then threatening and finally no longer even preparing for the attack…_  
  
“I… I thought he was gonna… you know…”  
“Rape ye?”  
  
Filip’s voice was very soft, but that word… Ronea buried his face further down onto his knees, pitiful noises coming from him as he cried. He cried for the fear he’d relived, for having been physically restrained and trapped with no way of getting out, for the sound of hard voices and the rough hands tugging at his belt. For the violent intrusion he couldn’t get away from and how the two completely different situations had melted together.  
  
His boyfriend rocked him slowly now, shushing and holding him close to his chest. The leather kutte was in the way and Ronea whined.  
  
“Okay, okay, easy darlin’, I’ll remove it. Ye wan’ skin contact?”  
  
He nodded, crying far too much to form words and after a little struggle, Filip was half naked and helped Ronea off with the tanktop, pressing him back onto his torso, just warming him and Ronea buried his face in the crook of his neck, where the scent of Filip was stronger.  
  
The warmth, the soft skin and the scent almost always helped. It made it less easy for the memories to drag him back again. His boyfriend was solid, strong and safe and they’d done this several times in the aftermath of a bad flashback. Filip kept stroking his back, nuzzling him.  
  
“I love ye so much, Ronea. Ye’re doing great, I’m so proud o’ ye, lovey. No shame, aye? No shame, ‘cause ye’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Ye hear tha’? _Nothing_.”  
  
  
**Filip**  
“Oh, for God’s sake, honey, sit down and drink your coffee like a normal person! You keep pacing like that we’ll all end up with high blood pressure. He’s not crippled, Filip, he’ll come out here. Bobby, sugar, where’s that maple syrup you promised you’d find?”  
“Right at your left, sweetheart.”  
  
It was a normal Saturday breakfast at the clubhouse. Last night’s party hadn’t been too wild and by the time Venus started on the pancake batter, everyone except for her, Tig, Bobby, John, Filip and Ronea had left and the clubhouse kitchen was peaceful if messy. Filip sipped on his coffee as he kept looking towards the dorm. Ronea had slept surprisingly well with only a couple of nightmares that were easily fought off by cuddles and some reassuring words and this morning he’d been completely aware of his surroundings only a moment after he woke up.  
  
After taking his meds, Ronea had slept in a little while and Filip, though feeling a bit guilty for his lack of trust, had quietly looked through the room for any items that could be used for self-harm and locked them into his cabinet. His boyfriend wasn’t suicidal, but the risk of self-harm was always higher close to an episode like last night’s.  
  
Filip dug into his pancakes with no actual appetite and halfway through the portion, there was finally the sound of a door and soft steps. When Ronea entered the kitchen, he looked very much like a combination of a lost kid and suspicious stray kitten, arms folded tightly across his chest and eyes wandering all over the room. Filip rose and went up to him, kissing his cheek.  
  
“Ye wan’ some coffee, lovey?”  
  
Ronea nodded, arms still not moving and Filip pulled him along to the table. The movements were stiff but he did sit down and forced his arms to rest on his lap instead. Venus put a cup of coffee and a plate with pancakes before him without any comments and then went on talking about the club’s annual fundraising picnic with Bobby.  
  
No one commented on what had happened last night, or even threw looks at Ronea, who slowly started cutting a small piece of the syrup dripping pancake and kept his eyes firmly on the plate. It was difficult to know if he was more exhausted or more ashamed of the situation. The radio was running in the background and through the buzz of table talking, cutlery scraping and the fizzle from Venus’ frying pan, the station started playing Cohen’s _Hallelujah_ , of all the goddamn songs to choose from.  
  
Tig, for once being quite alert despite tucking into his food, scrambled to his feet without a word to turned the radio down, but it was too late. Ronea was already crying again and Filip shook his head at Tig. Better letting the radio help muffling it, than putting his boyfriend’s misery more on display.  
  
As far as Filip knew, Ronea had no particular connection with this song, but it simply was one of those melancholic pieces that could put the tear canals to work if you were in the wrong – or right – mood. And maybe, maybe it was better for Ronea to cry even if it was in front of Filip’s friends. Perhaps learning that they weren’t judging him. Not for the abusive asshole he’d left behind, or the PTSD and all the shite it put him, Filip and their relationship through.  
  
  
**Ronea**  
His hands were shaking and Tig held up his own lighter.  
  
“Let me.”  
  
They were at the backyard, Ronea sitting on one of the picknick tables and after Tig had lit both their after breakfast smokes, the man sat down next to him.  
  
“Chibs ever told you I was in the marines?”  
“No.”  
“Well… was court-martialed after just a year on the force. Did seven months in Iraq in the 80’s and it was just fucked up so instead of waiting for permission to get out legally, I intentionally got myself hit in the leg and while I was at the hospital, I may or may not have rambled about missing my boyfriend.”  
“Jesus…”  
“Yeah… I mean, _technically_ the girl I dated at the time was a guy, at least in the eyes of society so...”  
“You got discharged.”  
“Dishonorably, yeah, after a little more than three months. Lost my pension not to mention a lot of people I thought were my friends, but it was worth it.”  
  
Tig shook his head.  
  
“Man, the things I saw… And not just with the civilians, but other soldiers. Right after I flew down there, there’d been this guy in the company I was assigned to, who’d went home on sick leave and they told me he’d only been in Dujail for a month before he started loosing his shit. He wasn’t even involved in a direct combat and he arrived during a relatively calm period.”  
“What happened?”  
“He went home, wrote a letter to his parents and then he shot his girlfriend, their newborn and then himself.”  
“Fuck… That’s some nasty shit…”  
“Yeah…”  
  
Tig blew out a cloud of smoke.  
  
“That’s when I realised I had to get out. That guy, people outside our company, said he was weak, not army material, but his friends there knew the truth. He was a regular guy, no previous shit or secrets, and he wasn’t a coward. He had PTSD and was too ashamed to admit he had problems.”  
  
Ronea didn’t know what to say and Tig put a hand on his shoulder, still not looking at him.  
  
“Don’t let anyone question your condition, okay? Especially not some no good pigs who think they’re Dirty Harry when all they really do is parking tickets and dragging wasted kids home to their parents for an ass whooping. I saw you in that cage, Ronea, and I’ve seen that look in soldiers, just as Chibs has in people who’ve been through nasty car accidents. I mean, come on, I fucking sneaked my way out of the army before anything even happened to me, which Chibs and John and the rest of the club knows all about. If anyone should be ashamed, it would be me, but I’m not. I wasn’t gonna wait and see if I’d get as fucked up as that guy who shot his wife and kid. No way.”  
  
Tig stumped out his smoke and turned to look straight at him.  
  
“We all have shit to deal with, Ronea, and no one here thinks you’re weak. You’ve just had it worse than most of us and for what it’s worth, I’m impressed by how you’re handling it.”  
  
Ronea huffed but Tig squeezed his shoulder.  
  
“Nah, man, I’m dead serious. Chibs is so lost for you it’s ridiculous. Never seen him this happy and he’s the last fucking person to feel ashamed for his boy getting a flashback. Or crying over pancakes.”  
  
  
**Filip**  
He wasn’t ashamed. Not one bit. His chavie, who’d gotten himself cleaned up after breakfast, was just bonnie as hell in one of Venus’ borrowed longsleeves and his shades. In the club’s backyard, he almost seemed relaxed and even smiled a little while talking to Tig. Filip watched them from a distance, wanting to give Ronea some space.  
  
“You keep staring like that and _you’ll_ be the creep, Chibbie.”  
  
Filip glared at John, who’d joined him for a smoke.  
  
“Thanks for tha’, pres. Ye wan’ us to keep it on the down-low here?”  
“With our ties to GBMC? Don’t be stupid, brother. Don’t mean to snoop or anything, but I heard him screaming last night.”  
“Jus’ the one time. Was nothing.”  
  
John looked increadulously at him.  
  
“How often?”  
“Four or five times, usually.”  
“A _night_?”  
“Aye.”  
“Jesus, Chibbie, why didn’t you tell me?”  
“S’getting better, John. He was jus’ too wornout to dream last night… I think.”  
  
His pres made a small grunt, frowning.  
  
“How about you, brother?”  
“What about me?”  
“You get any sleep?”  
“I’ll get by.”  
  
The support from John and the club was, on paper, what to expect when you called each other brothers and had promised to have each others’ backs, but this was still an MC club and well… Filip was a Scotsman who’d been brought up with an equally rough father and rough neighborhood. The poor parts of Glasgow didn’t exactly prepare you for acceptance or softness.  
  
Filip finished his first smoke and lit another one, stroking his hair back. Ronea was laughing at something Tig said now and the sad brightness of it tugged at Filip’s chest. That armour made from make-up, jokes and an  intelligence that sometimes baffled him.  
  
“He’s so bloody strong…”  
  
He wasn’t really sure he’d said it out loud, until John nodded.  
  
“He is. Don’t loose this one, alright Chibbie?”  
“I’ll try my best not to.”  
“And try not to loose yourself either, while you’re at it. We’ve got your back, brother.”  
“I know.”  
  
Their terse words were all what was needed to capture this mess, really. They both knew what they meant and also knew that Ronea wasn’t the only one who’d break from this. Filip’s tears usually came when his boyfriend was asleep, but last night there’d just been too much tension for him to let go. He was tired, sad, pissed off and just… _What if I loose ye? Not just a breakup, but for real… What if ye go where I cannae follow…_  
  
“Filip?”  
  
He looked up, a little startled. Ronea had come over to him and looked worried. Filip realised he’d been lost in thoughts and sometimes that scared his chavie. He reached a hand out and pulled Ronea close, nuzzling his chest. After a moment, Ronea put his arms around him too, leaning onto his hair.  
  
Usually they didn’t show affection like this in public, if you could call Teller-Morrow’s closed backyard public. John didn’t move, but didn’t intrude either. Filip pulled the scent of nicotine, coffee and sweetness into his nose. The thin chest like a frail cage against his face, the wounded heart fluttering like a little bird. So full of life, despite all that had happened.  
  
Ronea didn’t say anything, neither did Filip. There were some steps, John slowly moving away without a word. Only then, the bird in Filip’s own chest who’d been in some kind of cramped yet functioning state ever since the precinct, started moving again and he cried in silence onto Ronea’s chest, the hands cradling his head and nape so gently, mouth resting in his hair, whispering:  
  
“Let go, love. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you…”  
  
***  
  
The men holding each other by a picnic table at a caged backyard filled with Harleys are young. 27 and 23, no visible wrinkles yet and little more than a year from now, they’ll be married. Unlawful, but still. Slowly they’re healing, their different wounds not always shared but never hidden away from each other. Some scars will fade for good, others remain but with time and patience, the slow and sometimes so ordinary life of a longterm couple not hiding but, as the years go by, allowing the wounds to take the backseat.  
  
None of the men really know what they’re doing, and who does when being madly in love? They have no plan, certainly no words, only a notion that there’s really no other option than the two of them becoming one and whole. There are days when they doubt it, they’re only humans after all, but it’s as if their hearts have already made up their mind and whatever rocks their seemingly unsteady boat, they simply can’t find another option than to carry on.  
  
Many years from now, when they’re so used to the strenght they’ve built together and they’ve forgotten how that steal was hardened beneath kuttes and long coats, no longer recalling how it feels to give up on someone you love – or yourself – they’ll fall, fall, fall just as hard for man with a sunshine grin and battered heart.  
  
And when that man can’t understand what they see in him, why they stay in his darkness, the men who don’t yet know what lies ahead, have no answer since there was never another option for them. Because it wasn’t in bright sunshine, but in darkness that they learned how to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gaelish for my heart  
> **gaelish affection to a lover or spouse


	124. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talkings with Dr. Huang continues.

The world was trembling, tumbling down even. Things weren’t where he’d put them, locks and doors were opening and things he’d long since decided never to look at again, were falling out from their safe places. Like someone had stuffed a bag with his things, completely out of order, and then emptied it in a messy pile on the floor. Trying to sort the things out was impossible, especially since the ground they had landed on, was still rocking.  
  
Crying was different after the last session with the doc. It seemed like he spent most of his waking hours with watery eyes and the memories, the messy stuff in the bag he’d thought was in order, was put on display now. Juice felt like he’d never seen anything that ugly in his entire life and it was difficult, so fucking difficult to come to terms with why Papi and Daddy didn’t seem disgusted with him, even if they didn’t know half of it.  
  
He’d been a slut. No, worse, a whore. He’d sucked dick for a stupid tattoo he’d long since stopped showing. A disgusting, weak little whore who couldn’t use his fists to fight back or even his goddamn legs to get away for good, but he’d taken the beatings, the darkness and the shavings like a sheep. He’d deserved it all, hadn’t he?  
  
The doc didn’t seem to think so. Neither did Papi and Daddy. Confusing and chaotic wasn’t even close to describe it.  
  
It was scary in a different way now. In the mornings, before the first dose of meds had started to work, Juice felt the most vulnerable but could no longer cling onto Papi or Daddy. It felt like he had no right to, like he was somehow contagious and would infect his lovers with his disease. Defile them with the dirt and nastiness he’d not been able to get rid off on his own, but carried around like a stinking pile of shit.   
  
He would turn away, refuse body contact in a way he’d never done to either of them and they’d back off, but not leaving. They’d remain by his side, sitting on their chairs at each side of the bed and just wait for the magic fluids in the tube to kick in. Once they started to, things were not getting back on their right shelves, but they stopped moving around and Juice’s mind would slow down again, while still confused and miserable.  
  
He tried to tell them they shouldn’t hold him.   
_  
Why, baby boy? Why’s tha’, laddie?  
  
_ Because he was disgusting, that’s why. How did they not see that? How did they fail to see the pathetic, lying piece of trash that he was, now that there was no covers left?  
  
Dr. Huang called it an emotional crisis. A trauma. A whole lot of unattended, unhealed wounds who yes, smelled horrible after having been hidden away for such a long time, but it was high time to change the original bandaids now. To stop the wounds from getting more infested, giving them some air and cleanliness. Shame would only make them rot and go deeper, spread out and ruining more.  
  
Remembering should be healing, allowing the process to start for real, but it only felt worse. All too often it seemed as if he was back in one of the countless beds he’d been temporarily assigned as a child and teen. There’d been so many of them, from real and even comfy ones to a thin mattress on the floor or, at one point, a root cellar. That one hadn’t been Orson, but a woman called Tina, who’d gotten so angry with the bed wetting, she’d punished him with two nights in complete darkness on grounded floor.  
  
It had happened during the summer and the temperature wasn’t uncomfortable, but the darkness… The small keyhole hadn’t slipped through even a sliver of light and it wasn’t until daybreak that he, exhausted and sticky with tears and sweat, drenched in his fear and anxiety, that his tiny body was weary enough to let go of a little tension.  
  
Tina obviously hadn’t counted on that, neither had her husband Nick. It was Nick who’d come to let him out in the morning and, instead of yelling at or hitting him, had been concearned with the shivering eleven-year-old and carried him back inside to wash him, gently, as if he suddenly mattered. The floor in the root cellar had a huge wet urine spot and Nick had put him to bed. A real one. And then, he’d held him.  
  
“Was that the first time he’d held you?”  
“Yeah… Well, like… in a good way. Used to shake and grab me and stuff, spanked me a lot… with his belt…”  
“But that morning, after he’d forced you to sleep in the root cellar, he held you?”  
“Yeah…”  
“Did he say something, Juice? Did he apologise?”  
  
He had to think. He could remember the clean sheets, the fabric softener sticky in his nose, how the hand that last night had squeezed his neck so hard it got bruised, now was cradling him…  
  
“Juice?”  
  
He’d not dared to move. The cradling he’d longed for wasn’t comforting, didn’t make him relax.   
  
“Sleep.”  
“He told you to go to sleep?”  
“Yeah…”  
  
He swallowed. Tears were drip drip dropping down his cheeks, the tip of his nose, onto his hands now. They were squeezing now, curling into bony balls, veins prominent under the skin.  
  
“Laid awake… Couldn’t move…”  
  
The room wasn’t spinning now, but contours had gotten blurry, the walls and furniture floating out like the water colors Papi had brought him. The lump in his throat was hurting now, every little move getting stiff and creeping down his neck, his shoulders.  
  
“If I… fell asleep… I’d… I would’ve… wet the bed again…”  
  
A breath. It hurt. One more, even worse.   
  
“Juice, you are shaking and your face is all white. Take a deep breath. I know this is extremely scary and painful for you, but you’re completely safe in here.”  
  
Safe. _Safe?_  
  
A hollow, almost hysterical laughter suddenly filled the room and Juice screamed, terrified, thrashing his sheets and before he knew it, he passed out, the last image before his eyes, just darkness. Earth and darkness.


	125. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another "inside the mind" chapter with Daddy, who's once again in deep thoughts while holding his now sleeping lad after the therapy session.

The things in life that shaped him are equally good and bad. Love and care, fear and shame. Most das in the neighborhood were prone to one drink too many and only when one or a couple of them would beat their wives and kids to the point of bloodloss or huge bruises, there’d be gossip. It was a different time and a different place, but Filip were never really naïve enough to believe in a place safe from the shitty sides of humanity. And so many people, his lover being one of them, had and have it so much worse.  
  
At this point, Filip doesn’t feel the need to hear the specific details of the horrors that brought this particular panic attack onto his lad and even if he did need it, there’s still the professional secrecy in his way. Filip is prepared to do a lot of stuff to understand and help his lover, but breaking trust aint one of them.  
  
While he often feels so helpless against Juice’s demons, at least he knows his presence is helping. He knows it from the way Juice doesn’t put up the last days barrier of self-disgust between them now. Knows it from how the man who was never allowed to be a kid, is grasping for him with thin fingers and weakened muscles. He knows it from the barely contious words the man is whispering in his restless sleep. How he’s pleading, probably to some foster parent or parents, not to close the door, to not leave him in the darkness and for once, Filip is grateful that his lad’s mind is unreachable for him right now, so that he can cry without scaring him further.  
  
_There are some things that time cannot mend. Some hurts that go too deep that have taken hold._  
  
Filip doesn’t know why this particular quote is coming to him, when there are so many ways one can describe a healing that wont be complete. Frodo Baggins’ journey to Mount Doom is one of Ronea’s favourite books and the copy in his bookshelf often re-read. Filip has only watched the movies, but that quote seemed to have stuck, only never popped up in his mind until now.  
  
While his facial scars and the ones on Ronea’s back will never heal to the point of invisibility, those wounds are merely touching the surfaces of the pain they’ve caused. The blemishing, the shame and fear, but mostly, Filip thinks now, the grief.  
  
They weren’t their first when it comes to sex, far from it, but they were both very much the first for each other when it came to actually touch, not just accidently brush over, each other’s scars. The wounds that neither time nor surgery can mend. And while Ronea’s can be covered by clothes, Filip’s are always on display and they’ve sometimes, some years int their marriage, even talked about that difference. Having someone to express that grief with, has been key to Filip’s inner healing, he’s not been bothered by the scars for many years but only one more person has been allowed to touch them.  
  
_I love your scars, Daddy. They don’t… you’re not beautiful_ despite _them, you know…  
  
_ The man who so often doesn’t know how to express himself, has no idea what those words meant to Filip. How he’d had to madly fight his tears because he just couldn’t bear to start crying so soon before Juice was leaving. Once they’d departed, Filip had went on a ride and cried his eyes out on a side road, not because he was sad, but just overwhelmed with the reverence in Juice’s words, voice and hands.  
  
_You’re not beautiful_ despite _them._  
  
Juice, just like Ronea, has never seen him without them. Juice hasn’t even seen pictures of him before the attack, or ones of Ronea without his. They might be covered by clothes, some of them, but they’re still there. No before and after pictures, because in their relationship, there is no such thing as before the wounds. As depressing as it might sound, the wounds is the reason why they even met.  
  
The shame of the scars wasn’t really a new one. Filip remembers his childhood and adolescence perfectly well and without any smoke screens. Da wasn’t awful, he was a child of his time, and not one of it’s wanted ones. Filip has a number of aunts, uncles and cousins on Patrick Telford’s side that he’s never met and doesn’t feel the need to connect with. He chose Ronea and a life in the States, one that, at least in the 90’s, wasn’t one his relatives back in Scotland or Ireland would understand, and they’ve all handled it without any unnecessary problems. Last time they met, was on Filip’s maw’s funeral, Ronea was with him of course, and the younger relatives, even those who lived in the war-torn Belfast, were simply curious and also very much in envy over their relative’s life in Cali and the MC club he was a part of. Not as curious as they were of his tall, graceful husband, of course, but especially the lads were too much aware of their roles as soon to be men and the watchful eyes from their da’s and siblings, to let their enchantment show too much. Filip could tell, because he’d learned that kind of shame too.  
  
The everpresent risk of not being a _man_ and the shame that would inevitably follow if you dared to even dip your toe outside that narrow path. No one explained the rules, you just had to watch and learn in silence, pray that you guessed right and if you did, take a moment for a relieved exhale before the next test began. Never show weakness, never ever weep. And once you’re an adult, always talk about how your da taught you how be a man, with grumpy respect for his toughness and the grown-up’s dismissing of the pains of a child and teen.  
  
Filip strokes his young lover’s back, still silently crying in his hair. It’s not just Juice’s long since grown-up child he’s comforting, but perhaps the little Filip and little Ronea as well. The roots of their different pain are the same, the toxic ones that slowly strangles boys’ capacity of handling emotions, of connecting with themselves and others. The shame of being affected by the most human thing imaginable, feelings, is the fertilizer they’ve all been forcefed throughout their childhoods and as they became men, they, like so many men, didn’t even realise that shame had become so natural, it had spread like weed over all the other emotions, slowly suffocating them.  
  
It’s never too late to become a gardner though, and that’s what gives Filip hope. His own weeding began at the E.R. where he learned to take care of men, women, young and old, who expressed all kinds of emotions and sometimes just needed for him to hold their hand or be the shoulder to cry on. He got to see men like his da, but who couldn’t keep up their façade because of pain, shock and fear, either from own injuries or loved ones. He’s seen cops, militaries and buff gang members break down at a loved one’s bed, or worse, corpse. He’s seen them throw up or faint from the sight of gaping wounds and cry hysterically from nightmares caused by PTSD and it’s in that crossfire, that Filip thinks he truly learned how to be a man. A _hu_ man.  
  
The man who’s hair he’s wetting with tears, has all but imploded with all the feelings he learned to shut down and Filip will never pretend to know how that burden has been to carry around for thirty years. All his methodical, logic craving mind can do, is to remember how his own pain and sorrow, fear and shame felt like and use that knowledge to try and meet Juice somewhere on the road. Take his hand, show the way, sit down for a while or carry him. Trying to teach him, by showing and just not telling, that while all wounds cannot fully heal, a broken heart is never the same as a lost one.  
  
You may never be able to restore the original picture from the shatters, but with the right help, patience and lots of love, you can make mosaik of them and that’s beautiful too.


	126. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papi is knackered and needs stuff he currently can't have.

He took up his scissor and cut the remaining threads off before holding the piece up for a better look. It was a very simple cardigan for everyday use, dark brown with a hoodie, two pockets and black buttons. It would probably be a little too big at the moment, but in time, it would suit his baby boy really well. It felt strange to be done with it and Ronea almost reluctantly folded it and took up his embroidery instead.  
  
It was a new one with three doves in their nest in a cherry tree. Spending this much time just sitting by his boy’s side required occupation of some sort and Ronea figured he needed to do something else than knitting now.  
  
Filip was still laying in bed with Juice, had barely left him to take a piss since the therapy session and Ronea didn’t even try to make him. It seemed like it was just as much for his own as his lil’ one’s sake and Ronea reckognized the pattern. Making his loved ones feel safe, was how Filip himself felt safe, always had been and Ronea couldn’t help but longing even more for the spanking they’d been forced to postpone for so long now.  
  
It was, fucked up as it probably would seem to “normal” people, one of the most important ways for Filip to show care and he’d not been able to do that to any of them for a very long time. Not that Ronea had had much time to even think of committing transgressions, but while he may not deserved a punishment right now, he was very much in need of an emotional relief spanking. Not the more playful kind, but one where he would feel completely at his husband’s mercy and once again feel the anxiety, the self-control and stress give away for the reminder of who was in charge of their marriage.  
  
“How’s my lil’ husband doin’?”  
  
It would never cease to amaze Ronea how well his husband could read him or how loving his quiet voice sounded when he spoke this softly to him. So gentle, as if he was afraid Ronea would get crushed by his words, were they spoken even the slightest harder, faster or louder. Ronea sighed.  
  
“I’m…”  
  
He stopped himself in time and took a deep breath.  
  
“Not that good, baby.”  
“Thank ye, lovey.”  
  
Not for not feeling good, but for telling that he wasn’t. For opening up instead of fighting it. Filip carefully started to move away from Juice, inch by inch, soothing the sleeping form while doing it. Juice thankfully kept sleeping and Filip was finally able to leave the bed and hold his husband instead. He nuzzled Ronea’s hair and Ronea wanted to cry from it, when Filip rubbed his shoulders.  
  
“I know wha’ ye need, darlin’… Feels really bad for me too, not havin’ had time to give it to ye of late… Seeing ye so wound up.”  
  
Ronea couldn’t help but letting out a whimper and his husband once again stroked his tense muscles and shushed him gently.  
  
“Need it too, lovey… Need to hear ye open up to me, to express yerself… To take ye over my knee an’ take good care o’ ye… Makin’ ye cry those happy years until ye’re all relaxed an’ letting me see tha’ sweet smile o’ yers again… I'll give ye wha' ye need soon...”  
“Promise?”  
“Always, baby. In fact… I migh’ even ground ye for a day or two…”  
  
Being grounded, like spankings, both was and wasn’t a punishment. Filip used it very rarely and only if the transgression – or distress – was extreme to a point where spankings and chastity weren’t enough. Right now, it was such a long time since they’d followed their usual routine, Ronea felt like he’d willingly accept peeled ginger, rattan cane, a long and emotionally painful talking as well as a week in chastity and prohibition from leaving the house.   
  
“Don’t know if I can handle this much longer, Filip…”  
“Oh, ye will, lovey. Ye know why?”  
“Tell me…”  
“Because I say so, sweet husband. Jus’ because _I say so_ …”  
  
Sometimes it was equally hard to recall a time before obeying Filip, as it was remembering how long he’d actually obeyed him. Right after their wedding, yes, even the very first day of their marriage, Ronea had felt like he’d entered something entirely new. He’d felt stupid for thinking like that, but he couldn’t stop the feeling. Promising to obey Filip, not just in secret between the two of them, but openly in front of their friends, had been even more powerful than coming out.  
  
He’d not had the words for the state of mind he so seamlessly had entered, instead it was John who, once they’d come back from their honeymoon and had a little dinner at the club, seemingly in passing said “marriage suits you, doll”.  
  
Being Filip’s husband suited him extremely well and that was another secret Ronea had never shared with anyone else. How just being a husband, being Filip’s homemaker was the only role he’d ever wanted, at least before Juice came into their lives. But for most of it, Ronea hadn’t changed. He never felt unfulfilled in his role, like he missed out on something or was inhibited and unable to live his life to the fullest. It was in his submission, when he obeyed, sometimes setting his own will aside even when he didn’t want to, that he felt the most strong and free.  
  
Twenty plus years of obeying a man who loved him to death and always, always looked out for him, had made Ronea stronger than he ever thought possible. He sighed into Filip’s neck.  
  
“You know I hate being grounded…”  
“Aye, I do.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Anytime, lovey. Anytime… An’ by the way, tha’ cardigan is beautiful.”


	127. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice is slowly coming back to the now.

It took a moment or two to process where he was and who was laying in bed with him. The first thing he noticed was the lack of earthy scents and darkness, the inked skin pressed onto his face. There were heartbeats, warm scent of musk, sweat and soap. _Daddy._  
  
Then, it all came back. He didn’t fall into the memory this time, but remembered that he had. The constantly wet sheets, the root cellar and the cries no one had heard because he’d been too scared to give voice to them.   
  
He wasn’t there anymore, it had been many years since the last time he left the root cellar and Daddy would never punish him like that, but there was a reason why Juice had done his best not to look at that and many other painful memories. By recalling them, in all their horror, he felt so much like that little kid again. Eleven or fourteen didn’t seem to matter.   
  
The darkness swallowing or the razor dehumanizing him. Nothing was his, no part of him his to decide over, neither his body, nor any of the few items he used. Anything, everything, could be taken away at any moment, even his inner thoughts. Stripped of everything but the fear, self-loathing and crushing loneliness.  
  
“My lil’ lad… Juicyboy, Daddy’s here…”  
  
Was he crying again? Didn’t feel like it, but he made weak noises. Little whines, as from a small animal calling for it’s mother. Dixie hadn’t been in the root cellar with him, it was before her time, before he was moved again and again and again… _No one likes an ungrateful, pouty brat who suddenly starts to wet the bed like some little baby. Pull yourself together, Ortiz! You don’t have that many chanses left, you know.You gotta try harder, kid.  
  
_ “Little darlin’, ye’re not back there… C’mere, Juicy, come to Daddy…”  
  
He was so ashamed but couldn’t make himself move away from the comforting arms now. He didn’t deserve to have company, to be held and spoken softly to.   
  
“There, there, laddie… Ye have a good cry if ye need to, aye? I’m here, alright. Daddy loves ye so much, lil’ one. No one’s ever gonnae hurt my Juicyboy again, I promise.”  
  
That voice… Daddy’s voice. He’d been mesmerized with it from the first moment, before he was Daddy and called him into the house. Low, stern, calm. The anger over the ruined roses not hidden, only leashed and for a moment, Juice had been scared for how it would show. Fists, yelling, a folded belt… He could defend himself, he was an adult now, but still…  
  
Still, he’d chosen the paddle and the end of the couch. Had chosen to pull his pants and shorts down for this unknown man who just as well could’ve been actually dangerous. It wasn’t the spanking, while it had hurt, that stuck with him from that memory, but how the man who wasn’t Daddy yet, had been so calm and didn’t scorn him. Those eyes that had been angry turned soft, warm and even, yes, _proud_. The way he said his name, first Juan Carlos, then _Juice_ , like the nickname simply just suited in his mouth.  
  
He’d been so taken by that voice, by the way the imposing man didn’t even raise it. How he’d turned to his breathtakingly beautiful husband in the silky black robe over grey pajama pants and bare feet while still talking to Juice. Telling him that the roses were _his husband’s_ and planted _specially for him._ There’d been no mistaking in the adoration, the way the scarred man spoke of his man and perhaps that was the moment where Juice had started to fall, just a little.  
  
He’d kept falling that morning, step by step. Accepting a spanking instead of the cops, not really knowing why or what to expect. He’d been falling as he yanked his pants down and bent over the couch, as he’d proceeded with his shorts, hoping not to show too much of himself. He wasn’t scared of the pain, he knew what to expect, although he’d never been paddled before.  
  
The pain had been different than a belt. It still hurt a lot, but what struck him more than the blows, was the man’s control, how he punished him methodically, didn’t scold or call him names. How he’d felt like he never wanted to move and how that feeling was so strange he couldn’t even process it enough to become scared. And then the man stopped. It was kinda surprising, the moderation of it all and the fact that Juice still felt tears prickling his eyes, thankfully stopped before actually falling.   
  
He’d been allowed to adjust himself without any harsh words or peeking and once he was done, he’d turned around and just… saw the man in robe, realising how much those roses meant for him and that’s when the regret came. The punishment wasn’t enough, he needed, fucking _needed_ to ask for forgiveness and, more importantly, receive it. He’d asked for it and, which was about as confusing as the choice between the cops and the spanking, received it immediately, _with a hug and an invitation for coffee._  
  
Papi’s voice… He must’ve spoken before that invitation, but it’s the first time Juice can remember actually hearing it:  
  
_Well, Juice Ortiz… I’m Ron Tully and the one your butt should be thanking, is my husband Filip Telford. Usually when someone disturbes our peace on a Sunday morning, we simply can’t wait to slam the door in his face, but I happen to have a fresh pot of coffee ready and you really look like you could need something for that hangover…_   
  
For some reason, Papi hadn’t said his full name that time and Juice had never asked why. It didn’t seem to have been a conscious thing, Papi had once mentioned he sometimes just stuck with Ron with strangers when he didn’t want to explain how Ronea wasn’t a girl’s name.  
  
The beautiful kitchen and awesome coffee more than enough made up for his sore ass, or maybe the combination of it, the lingering pain and the hot caffeine, the way the two seemingly very different men smiled not just at each other but at him, the hungover rose vandal who’s bare bacside they’d both seen in full view before even introducing themselves. He’d fallen for them, all the way from the rose bushes to the paddle, the hug and the huge cup of coffee at the kitchen table.   
  
Their first impression of him was a miserable, careless drunk who could barely open his mouth to speak like a functioning adult, and yet the greenish hazel eyes and the pepper dark ones, looked at him with slightly amused kindness and curiousity, not disgust. They’d chuckled at Juice’s embarressed confession that he had no idea how he’d ended up in their garden or even the neighborhood, only that he’d been at some sort of party last night and actually lived quite some distance away.   
  
It seemed like such a long time ago, now as he was crying in Daddy’s arms. He’d felt exposed when bending over the couch that time... _Jesus Christ, if he’d only known…_  
  
“Here ye go, lovey…”  
  
The pacifier. Mr. Bunny tucked between himself and Daddy.   
  
Who was he right now? Little Juice, or perhaps even Juan Carlos before the nickname? Was he the screaming baby left in the motel room, the four-year-old not understanding why he had to leave the nuns, who got punished for that fear? Who saw his stuffed friend burning before his eyes.   
  
Or was he the kid in the cellar? The teenager who, pressed down on the floor with a knee in back, got shaved for his bad grades? The whipped boy seeking comfort from a pitbull? Had he become the 22-year-old, with the spiked drink slowing down everything but the pain of his attacker? Or just this 30 years old man who fucked everything up because he only knew how to _act_ like a normal person, but not how to actually _be_ one?  
  
This was what he’d feared, just not having any words for it. That his past would start defining so much of him, there’d be no normal, well-adjusted and functioning parts left for others to stand him.   
  
And still, when he’d tried the hardest not to fuck up as a kid, people had left him in the cold. But when he _started_ with fucking things up for the man who held him and his husband, he’d been invited into their home, their warmth and their life.   
  
_They were still here_. They knew more about his weakness, his faults and failures, his shame and neediness and yet, the ugly truths didn’t make them leave or even create distance. The arms holding him are still the same, the embrace just as close and that voice bearing nothing but love and care.   
  
“Daddy…?”  
“Aye, lil’ one?”  
“I’m so scared…”  
“I know, lovey. Daddy knows ye are, but I’m not.”  
“Such a… mess…”  
“An’ I love ye with or without tha’ mess, laddie. There’s no more being on yer own in this now, Juicyboy. Ye’ve been alone for so long, but tha’s over now, alright? Ye’re not gonnae be alone ever again, my love. We’re yer family now an’ tha’s never gonnae change. We’re gonnae help ye through this an’ we’ll work through it the best we can, jus’ like me an’ Papi did with his stuff twenty years ago.”  
  
It’s small, over in a flinch, but it’s there and he feels it. A small speck of light reaching through. Just the blink of an eye, the startle of a fish touching the surface, a fleeting moment passing with a breath.   
  
It’s there even if he doesn’t yet reckognize it. If he had, he’d known what it’s called, this so unfamiliar feeling that doesn’t need light to live on.  
__  
Hope.


	128. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Filip is back in Husband mode and not just Daddy mode again...

Being the head of the household sometimes meant making decisions that just weren’t good. Not necessarily bad either, just not good enough. The long weeks of more or less putting Juice’s need above most other things, meant Filip’s husband had slowly been pushed in one of his really bad head spaces. One sign of that, was the fact that he was speed knitting. Not that Juice’s new cardigan, socks and the bird’s nest embroidery weren’t exquisite or necessary, but there was a limit and Filip could tell by Ronea’s almost manically working hands that limit had been grossly exceeded.  
  
One morning after rounds, Filip had asked Juice in private if it was okay if his Daddy could take care of Papi for a couple of hours. Ever since the lad had started open up for real and allowed contact again, his mindset seemed to become a little more stable every day, less frantic and that was a huge relief for everyone. Juice had answered the question with a slow but not actually hesistant “yes”, although Filip had spent quite some more time to really talk it through with his lad.  
  
Would it be okay if he had his phone within reach, with the speed dial ready and Filip and Ronea of course would have their cells close and on, ready to pick it up within seconds? And they’d set a time, of course, so Juice could count down the exact time when they would be back, at latest? Filip had not been sure of how much in the now Juice was, but his sweet, strong lad once again surprised him.  
  
“You’re gonna take _care_ of Papi, right Daddy?”  
  
Juice’s dark eyes had been weary but not shadowed. He’d been present and while not liking the idea of being alone for a while, he’d been _Adult Juice_ enough to understand what his Papi needed. Filip had wanted to violently pull him close and kiss the hell out of him for that love and concern his lil’ one was able to show even at this point. Instead, he’d stroked the lad’s hair.  
  
“Papi’s strong, lil’ one, but only if he can be weak when he needs to.”  
“I know, Daddy. He’s tired.”  
  
Juice had smiled then.  
  
“I... I can be strong too, Daddy. For a… coupla hours.”  
“Ye’re sure?”  
“No, but… When am I ever sure ‘bout anything, Daddy?”  
  
That little seemingly self-ironic comment really said a lot more than Juice probably understood at the moment, but Filip had still been concerned.  
  
“Is this yer _little_ feelings or yer adult wisdom speaking now, kiddo?”  
“Both, I think, Daddy.”  
  
It was honestly surprising to hear the lad this calm and able to express himself to this extent. Whatever he’d told the doc in private, even if had made him literally pass out from fear, it was as if he’d slightly turned a corner. It wasn’t visible unless you knew him well and there was some cruel irony in that too, considering how little Filip felt he really knew, not to mention understood about his lover’s inner terrors.  
  
Juice had looked at him with that old adoration, the one that of lately had been clouded by so much fear, and smiled.  
  
“You know, Papi’s gonna be mad, Daddy.”  
“I know.”  
“So you should definitely do it.”  
  
Filip had just stared at the almost teasing smile for a moment and then, he’d started laughing and all but violently pressed his darling boy to his chest, rubbing his nose in his hair.  
  
“Oh, Juicyboy… My baby… my lil’ baby…”  
  
_Please, don’t leave me, because it would kill a part of my heart and soul. I wouldn’t survive without ye, I’d get another scar tha’ wouldna heal… An’ I cannae tell ye tha’ now, not when ye’re still so vulnerable, so tired from three decades o’ fighting against everything an’ everyone an’ ye need evey ounce o’ energy ye’ve got now, to heal, not to worry ‘bout yer lover’s inner turmoil..._  
  
Ronea, on the other hand, was a whole other story and it took a lot more efforts to make him comply. First, he’d demanded to speak with the staff, left notes with phone numbers and God knew what instructions the poor nurses didn’t need and Filip had, when Ronea didn’t see, rolled his eyes slightly at the nurse who was in charge of Juice’s side of the ward that day, and had gotten a little wink back as soon as Ronea had turned around again.  
  
The staff was really good, they’d been nothing but professional, respectful and compassionate at all times and the nurse Ronea talked to, knew he wasn’t questioning hers or anyone else’s competence, he was just being a mother hen and, which Filip knew, not without reason. Once the poor staff had had their dose of Overly Concerned Mother Hen, it was Juice’s turn and he complied with more humour than worry, which probably was the main reason why Filip eventually could take his stressed out husband’s hand and move towards the ward’s exit.  
  
Now they were settling on Filip’s Dyna, Ronea pressed firmly against his back and Filip took a moment to just rub a hand on his thigh.  
  
“Ye okay, lovey?”  
“Not in the slightest, Filip.”  
  
For other people, that answer might’ve been a cause for more concern, but to Filip’s ears, it was music. It was always a lot easier when his husband wasn’t pretending, either knowingly or unconsciously, that he was fine. Filip rubbed his knee.  
  
“Thank ye, Ronea. Lets go.”


	129. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long ass chapter where Papi's ass (hopefully!) gets something it needs...

His mind was torn between the needs of his baby boy, his own and the pledge of obediance he’d not only agreed to, but actually initiated. He was tense as a damn violin on the bike and his husband could certainly feel it during the whole ride home.   
  
Home… They’d not been there the two of them at the same time for weeks now, always one of them staying by Juice’s side and when Filip drove in on the yard, Ronea already felt even more guilt for being away from Juice – and then for all the weed the garden had been infested with. He sighed and could feel his husband’s hand squeezing his shoulder.   
  
“Inside, lovey.”  
  
The steady yet soft voice, a kiss on his nape. An order and Ronea shuddered from it. He picked the mail up on the way and started to go through it when Filip took the envelopes.   
  
“Not now, Ronea. Jus’ take yer shoes an’ jacket off, go to the couch an’ sit down on the floor, crosslegged.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Ronea removed his jacket, struggled a bit with the high boots long laces and then scrambled to get to the couch and sat down as ordered. Even this, just hearing the order, the way Filip’s voice just didn’t _count_ on any objection, made him calmer. During the therapy with Tara Knowles-Gregory, so many years ago, they’d spent a lot of the sessions just trying to teach Ronea the difference between subimission and obedience that sprung out of a healthy need and was provided by a loving partner who respected your boundaries and wishes, and the unhealthy, dangerous and oppressive kind he’d managed to get out of.  
  
The weariness it caused him to make decisions on his own, the big ones, to see the whole picture clear, knowing what to do and then actually doing it had always, always left him miserable and once he’d finally stopped fighting that war, dared to ask his not yet husband for a trial period of obedience and been given the green light, things had started to improve literally within 24 hours. It hadn’t solved all his problems, it was no miracle cure, but it had been the prescription Ronea needed the most. The result of the trial period had left no room for discussion.   
  
It had been like going clothes shopping and just so happen to pick the exact right size, shape and prize of jeans at the first try without even having to look around. Filip had laughed at that analogy, but not ridiculed it. In fact, he never ever ridiculed him, especially not when they discussed this part of their marriage.  
  
Now, in this moment, there was no discussion at all. Just _talk_. Ronea felt his husband sitting down and normally, it wasn’t permitted to lean onto him yet but Ronea was so tired and his head just tilted onto Filip’s thigh. He could feel the hand in his hair, massaging his scalp a bit.   
  
“It’s okay, Ronea. We’ve not had enough time for this, for _us_ , an’ I know ye’re exhausted. Jus’ try an’ focus on here an’ now for a few breaths, ye can lean onto me. No talking yet, jus’ catch yer breath.”  
  
It was fortunate Filip hadn’t told him not to cry, because it was impossible to stop the tears. It wasn’t how they normally did this and it was actually harrowing to break protocol even if he couldn’t help it and certainly didn’t want to. Ronea grasped for his husband, any part he could hold onto and it so happened to be his shirt. He needed grounding, needed to feel his husband and _only_ him, or he’d simply implode and combust.   
  
Filip stroked his hair.  
  
“Ye will jus’ follow my lead now, husband. I know it’s always a lot more difficult for ye when ye’re this stressed out an’ especially since we’ve not been able to follow our usual routine for a while. We will do this slightly different this time an’ I’m _not_ gonnae explain in advance an’ ye’re _not_ gonnae ask any questions unless ye’re in actual fear o’ wha’ I’m doing. Is tha’ clear?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Good lad. Now stand up an’ unbotton yer pants.”  
“But…”  
“Wha’ did I say ‘bout questions?”  
“Not to ask them unless I’m in actual fear, sir.”  
“An’ are ye?”  
“No, sir.”  
“Then proceed.”  
  
He’d done it hundreds and hundreds of times before, but no matter how used he was to it, the feeling of shame, stress and humiliation never ceased to hit him when preparing to lay down across Filip’s lap.   
  
“Now pull yer pants an’ panties down.”  
  
Of course it didn’t help that he was half hard. Not from the idea of being spanked, after all, it wasn’t a turn-on for him, but from the way Filip took control without hesitation. Ronoea was shaking but he did as ordered and Filip patted his knees.  
  
“Bend over, Ronea.”  
  
Ronea realised how much control he’d been forced to take since Juice fell ill, when he found himself hesitating since Filip had not picked an instrument yet. That’s how badly wound up he was, that he was actually trying to take control over _this_. Ronea blushed as he bent over, knowing that Filip had noticed the micro second of hesitation and would take that into account in one way or another. He moved a little to adjust the position, making sure his cock was angled to avoid friction. Filip’s left arm helped him, pulling his body closer to him and then handed him a pillow.  
  
“Ye may hold onto this, but not cry. Understood?”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Dammit. Not crying? How would he manage to…? Ronea pulled his breath hard when the first blow came. It had been such a long time now, his ass was probably white as snow and while Filip started fairly easy, it absolutely stung. The pace he kept was a controlled one, neither slow nor fast, just rhythmic and almost matter-of-factly, as if he was just going through a routine of any kind and the awfully neutrality of it made Ronea pissed off.  
  
He barely felt the blows, they weren’t that hard, and certainly not tear-drawing in any way. What the hell was _wrong_ with his husband? With every far too light slap, Ronea felt himself getting more and more frustrated and the strain he’d hoped this would help decrease, only rose. His fists were balling, his hips so tense he clenched his ass without being able to stop and still, the spanking was barely on scale of a relieving one, let alone a cleansing of a burdened heart. When Filip suddenly stopped, Ronea was so angry he could just about stop himself from breaking protocol.  
  
“Tha’s a good boy, Ronea. Stand up an’ pull yer pants back up, please.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
_What?_ He was shaking now, but still obeyed. He got dressed again and forced himself to breathe calmly, unable to even look at his husband.   
  
“Now, kneel before me, darlin’. Righ’ in front o’ me.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
What on Earth had happened to Ronea’s husband and who was this man trying to impersonate him but failing? Still, Ronea obeyed, the urge to was too strong by now and he went into the ordered position, not yet able to look up. He felt Filip’s hands around his shoulders, pulling him closer to have him lean onto his belly.  
  
“No more sir. Think ye’re able to listen now, lovey?”  
  
What? All he’d wanted to was to listen and… oh… _Oh!_ It finally hit Ronea, as he was sitting with his lightly stinging ass onto his heels, that he’d not been ready for the talk and Filip, that damn mind reader, had known it all along. He’d started with the lighter spanking, not allowing tears, because he’d seen Ronea wasn’t fully in the moment and needed something to re-settle. Ronea couldn’t help but letting out a small whine as he nodded.  
  
“Yes, Filip. I’m… I’m ready, just… I don’t think I can stop from crying for that long.”  
”I know, baby, which is why I allow it now. I dinnae wan’ ye to cry before ye were really _here_ , but I can tell ye are now, so ye may cry as long as ye’re still listening to me properly.”  
“Thank you, Filip.”  
  
This wasn’t a sir moment anymore, they’d passed that bridge with the initial, short spanking and Ronea felt himself relax a little bit into his husband’s lap and the soothing rubs over his shoulders.  
  
“Do ye have any transgressions to confess, tha’ ye think I might not know of, Ronea?”  
“I… I’m…”  
  
He’d not made his usual notes! Oh God, that hadn’t happened since… probably the last major episode of ongoing anxiety, which was ten years ago, at least. The shame was almost unbearable and he was curling into Filip’s lap.  
  
“I’ve not made notes, Filip. I completely forgot to and I have no idea why and certainly no excuse.”  
“Then tell me wha’ ye remember, even if it’s been a very long time.”  
“I… I don’t know where to start! I’m so sorry, Filip, I…”  
“Hey, shh, calm down, Ronea. Take a deep breath, slowly, aye, tha’s better… Again, one more breath, jus’ hang onto me… There ye go, lovey… Nice an’ easy, darlin’. Jus’ follow my voice an’ do exactly as I say, okay?”  
“Yes, Filip, I… I’ll try.”  
“Good boy… Ye’re my good husband, lovey an’ I know ye’re not trying to hide things from me.”  
“I’m not, Filip. I swear.”  
“Shh, lovey, I know… This is so unlike ye an’ I know exactly why ye dinnae make the notes. Yer lil’ one is ill an’ ye’ve been completely consumed with worry ‘bout him. No, don’ interrupt me now, darlin’, I will tell when ye can speak. Come an’ straddle me so I can hold ye properly.”  
  
This still wasn’t their usual routine, but Ronea didn’t need to be asked twice. He rose and straddled his husband, all but throwing himself into his arms. Filip kept rubbing his shoulders and back, the strokes firm and broad down his spine and it helped. His breathing slowed down a little, his fingers didn’t fidget as much and Filip hummed softly.  
  
“I’m gonnae talk some now, baby, but I wan’ ye to remain silent. No stress, ye’ll have yer chance to speak in a while. Nod if ye understand. Good. Tha’s really good, now jus’ listen…”  
  
Ronea held onto him like he was clinging on for dear life because that was exactly how it felt.  
  
“These last weeks, I’ve not been able to be the husband I promised to be, the one ye need. I don’ necessarily blame myself for it, nor anyone else, but the point is, no matter the reason, it has put ye through a lot o’ stress, especially with Juice.”  
  
Right now, Ronea had no wish to interrupt, he just needed to listen and got a rewarding little kiss onto the side of his neck for his good behavior.  
  
“All this turmoil, with his illness, his background coming into light, all the panic attacks an’ other shite we’ve all dealt with, has put a lot of heavy shite onto all of us. Now, as ye now, lovey, I deal with tha’ chaos an’ shite by taking control, making decisions an’ keeping myself strong an’ protective o’ my family. Tha’s how I feel settled an’ back in control again, even though there are so many things about this tha’ I know I cannae control.”  
  
He stroke a finger down Ronea’s spine.  
  
“Ye, on the other hand, husband, doesn’t get any stress relief from tha’. Making decisions _outside home_ an’ about things tha’ belong more to my area, is extremely hard for ye. Not because ye’re not smart enough, I know ye’re more than capable o’ handling things, lovey, but because o’ how knackered an’ wound up ye get. I’ve seen how much ye’ve been forced to put up a brave face, in front o’ Juice an’ the hospital staff an’ I’ve not told ye enough how proud I’ve been for the way ye’ve acted.”  
“R-really?”  
  
He didn’t mean to interrupt, but Filip seemed to understand that and just gave another kiss on his neck, indulging him really.  
  
“Aye, I am _really_ proud o’ ye, Ronea. Ye’re my rock without even realising it, but sometimes, especially in stressful situations we’ve not really faced together before, ye have a tendency to forget yer role, an’ mine.”  
“I… I know, Filip…”  
“Shh, don’ rile yerself up again, lovey an’ don’ talk back now, which I know there’s a huge risk ye’ll do, with wha’ I’m about to say. But ye’re gonnae be the obedient husband I _know_ ye wannae be an’ follow my orders. Right?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“Good. Now, apart from the actual home making, yer hobbies, yer looks an’ the people ye hang out with, ye’re answering to me an’ only me. I’m only interfering with the former in case I think ye’re doing damage to yerself, me or our marriage. Or Juice, of course. I’m expecting certain things from ye an’ when ye don’ fulfill them without a _good reason_ , ye’re disrespectful an’ forgetting yer place. Am I right, yes or no?”  
“Yes, Filip, you’re completely right.”  
“An’ tha’ means ye can expect to be disciplined when ye’re forgetting yer place an’ behaving in an unacceptable way, aye?”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
“An’ wha’s the point o’ me disciplining ye?”  
“To… help me come forward with my transgressions and… realising when I’ve not fulfilled my duties and… God…”  
“Take yer time, lovey. No rush, this is all ‘bout ye now an’ I’m here for ye. Keep going.”  
“The… the point of you disciplining me, is for me to, not see the errors in my ways, because you want me to see them regardless, but for me to remember who’s in charge and that’s not me.”  
“An’ why am I in charge, Ronea?”  
“Because… that’s who you are, Filip. You’re making the best decisions for both of us and I don’t. I’m not strong enough in that area to make those kind of decisions for myself and certainly not for you or even Juice. That’s not _me_ , it’s you and when I forget that, I get in a bad head space and forget my place.”  
“An’ wha’ usually happens when ye end up in tha’ head space, darlin’?”  
“I get short-tempered, I… shut you off without realising it, forgetting to bring my troubles to you before handling them.”  
“Go on…”  
  
Still those pets, the soothing hands in steady, predictable circles saying _I’m here, we’re both here, just the two of us, and no one’s gonna harm you, not other humans, not me and certainly not you, because I love you and I’ll do anything for you, love…_ Ronea felt tears now and he just hid his face into Filip’s neck.  
  
“I… Is it okay if I’m crying? I _really_ can’t stop it and I’m not… not trying to shift focus, Filip.”  
“Lovey, I’ve already allowed it. An’ it says a lot o’ how knackered ye are, when ye forget something like tha’. No-no-no, don’ apologise, I only made an observation, Ronea. We were talking ‘bout yer bad head space an’ wha’ happens when ye get stuck in there. Can ye please go on?”  
“Y-yeah… I mean, yes, Filip. I… It makes me forget my place. No… it doesn’t _make_ me, as in me not controlling it, but I tend to allow it to take control instead of talking to you, which is a rule breaking.”  
“Tha’ is correct. An’ how did ye forget yer place this time?”  
“I…”  
  
This was the worst part right now, because while he knew he’d stepped out of place, Ronea honestly couldn’t tell _how_. He’d not felt this messy in a long time and he all but yelled into the denim fabrics of Filip’s jeans:  
  
“I don’t fucking _know_ I just know I _did_!”  
  
Filip neither softened nor sharpened by his outburst, only stopped petting him and simply rested his hand onto his head.  
  
“Now I think we’ve come to a suitable place for ye to go an’ get the _little_ spoon. Go on, Ronea, don’ mouth back or drag yer feet. Ye don’ wannae test me now.” _  
_  
Plain and clear instructions. Ronea rose and hurried away to retrieve the small wooden spoon and then instantly kneeled when returning to Filip. His husband took the spoon.   
  
“Yer hands are shaking, so I will unbutton yer pants now. Straddle me, face onto me, please.”  
  
Ronea couldn’t even talk now and just obeyed immediately, so that his husband could unbuckle the belt, open said button and pull the fly down.   
  
“Stand up, Ronea an’ pull only yer pants down. A lil’ more, please. Now, bend over.”  
  
He patted his lap and Ronea got into position. Filip expertly pulled the panties and the pants all the way down to his knees and then adjusted him again.   
  
“Ye may cry an’ make any sounds ye need to, but no words. Is tha’ clear, Ronea? I need a clear yes or no.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Ronea Telford-Tully had always been good at taking his husband’s punishments. His ass was, after all, well-seasoned after twenty plus years of domestic discipline, but Filip Telford was, on the other hand, _very_ good at spanking. Right now, he wasn’t comforting or lenient, he was the head of the house who disciplined an unruly spouse and the fact that he used the little wooden spoon now, made Ronea feel all the more small and humiliated, like a truly disobedient brat who’d disappointed his strict husband.  
  
He didn’t cry, he’d transferred, without realising it, to the space where he was fighting the pain again, trying to regain control and avoid feeling humiliated, which _never_ worked out. Not over his husband’s lap, never. Filip stopped for a moment.  
  
“Ye’re _not_ a bad person, Ronea, an’ I forbid ye to think o’ yerself as one, but sometimes ye’re making bad decisions, like shouting an’ _cursing_ at yer husband during a spanking.”  
  
He did? He did! Oh, sweet Jesus… He was so fucked and couldn’t even find the words to start an apology, let alone an explanation. Filip circled the spoon over his now pretty sore buttocks. It had been far too long if this little amount already made him feel the sting this much.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
The next strike from the spoon was either harder than usual or Ronea really was too un-spanked for his own good. Usually he hissed, at most, from this force, but it really hurt now and it was suddenly hard to stay still. After a dozen of the same kind, Filip stopped and rubbed the small of his back.  
  
“I can tell ye’re trying not to squirm, lovey, but ye’re still far too controlled. Do I need to fetch the ginger?”  
“No, please, no! I’m not trying to fight it, Filip, I swear!”  
“Shh, lovey, ye’re breathing too fast again. Slowly now, inhale… Exhale… tha’s a good boy. We’re no way _near_ done, get yer hips up an’ out some more, please, but keep yer shoulders where they are. I wannae _feel_ ye asking me to chastise ye, with _all_ o’ yer body.”  
  
It was so humiliating, trying to maintain the proper position while still pushing up his ass to physically beg for the spanking, showing the need for it so shamelessly and Ronea felt himself blush so deep it was creeping down his neck for Filip to see. Then, he started with the spoon again, harder and _so damn controlled_ Ronea’s body was helpless against it. Little by little, the physical and barely conscious fighting from his muscles, was starting to give up, worned out by the still manageble but very stinging force of Filip’s spoon. Ronea was feeling tears almost prickling his eyes, when his husband stopped again and stroked the small of his back.  
  
“Stand up, Ronea. Whoa!”  
  
He’d stumbled a bit and was immediately caught by strong, loving arms.  
  
“Are ye feeling dizzy, my love?”  
“Y-yes, Filip… I’m… Please, may I get down to all four again for a moment?”  
“Of course, darlin’. C’mere, lemme help ye. Ye need water?”  
“No, thank you, I’m fine. Just need to… get stable again.”  
  
Strangely, despite the slight dizziness, Ronea already felt a little better. But it had been so long since he’d had a proper, fulfilling spanking, it seemed like there was a bottomless fucking pit to fill and he didn’t feel lenient yet. There was still a part of him fighting, wanting to maintain a control that had nothing to do with asking for a more stable position. No, it was his head that wandered off, that whispered about having to keep it together, to grow a pair, stop crying and stay strong for Juice’s sake, and Filip’s sake and Ronea just couldn’t stand it, nor get out of it.  
  
He let out a whimpering breath, leaning his forehead onto Filip.  
  
“Please, Filip… I need… _Please…_ ”  
  
He had no words left now, for the deepest of needs, the one that threatened to consume him unless his husband gave him an outlet over his lap. Filip slowly took his hands and put them on the floor.  
  
“Forehead an’ knees on the floor, arse up, baby. Stay still an’ wait.”  
“Yes, Filip.”  
  
It was honestly a better position for now, more steady and allowed him some breathing space while still being alert, although remaining effectively submissive. Ronea felt frayed, torn between the fear of loosing control and the desperate, pent-up need to give it up completely. And his husband, God bless him, just _knew_ that.  
  
He could hear Filip going and then coming back, placing a hand onto his shoulder and Ronea jumped from it.  
  
“Jesus, darlin’, I dinnae mean to startle ye. My poor wee husband… ye’re still feeling really messy, aren’t ye?”  
  
He could only nod now and Filip let the item he’d chosen brush lightly over his spine.   
  
“Ye know, Mr. Telford-Tully, I’m not gonnae tolerate some ugly self-hatred or unreasonable anxiety take control over an’ poison the man I love more than life. Tha’s jus’… not… _acceptable_.”  
  
The next second, Ronea cried out as the bamboo cane bit his reddened skin. Filip didn’t comfort him now, but spoke with a very firm, low voice.  
  
“I…”  
  
Another strike and Ronea bit his bottom lip this time, tears quickly starting to form.   
  
“Will…”  
  
The next one hit precisely below his buttocks and the first proper scream in what felt like eons left his throat. His spine was curving inwards, ass clenching spasmic like and his head fell downwards as he panted, harshly, but not yet…  
  
“Not…”  
  
Now he screamed. It hurt like hell, he was already so sore and he didn’t want more, felt like he couldn’t take it.  
  
“F-Filip…”  
_“Tolerate…”_  
  
He’d wanted to let go, needed to so desperately and now as he started to, he was crying absolutely hysterically with every strike and stern word from his husband.  
  
_“Self-hatred…”_  
“Please, I…”  
_“Controlling…”_  
  
He just cried now, unable to form words as his ass was on fire.  
  
_“My… beloved... husband.”  
  
_ With one hard blow for every word, Ronea finally felt the release bubbling inside him again, not a sexual one, not in the slightest, but something way more powerul and fulfilling. His body was so lax and sore, his mind floating through the intense sensations, high on the physical pain and emotional outlet and for the first time in weeks, unaware of everything outside of it. __  



	130. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little time for the husbands to wind down and for Filip to dwell in some memories.

“Are ye absolutely sure, lil’ one?”  
_“I’m sure, Daddy. Papi… Papi needs you.”_  
“Ye need me too, Juicy.”  
_“Yeah, but… right now, I think Papi needs you more.”_  
“We’ve been off for almost two hours now… How are ye feeling, kiddo?”  
_“I’m actually good, Daddy. Feels better knowing you’re… looking out for Papi now. He… he looks so tired.”_  
“Ye wan’ me to wake’im up so ye can talk to him, lovey?”  
_“No! Jesus, Daddy! Then you’d just have to spank him again.”_  
  
It was so hard not to laugh out loud with the way his darling boy was allmost _scolding_ him from his hospital bed. This precious man who always put the needs of others before his own.  
  
_“I can hear you thinking, Daddy.”_  
“An’ I can picture tha’ cute, crinkled nose o’ yers plain as day, lil’ one. Ye sure ye can handle being on yer own for a lil’ while longer?”  
_“Yes, Daddy. Daddy?”_  
“Aye, lil’ one?”  
_“Give Papi a cuddle from me?”_  
“I’ll give him two, lovey. Ye keep being a good lad for Daddy until we get back, aye?”  
_“I’ll do my best, Daddy. Jus’… keep your phone close, okay? Please?”_  
“I wont let it outta’ reach, _mo chridhe_...”*  
_“Love you, Daddy. Papi too.”_  
“An’ we love ye too, Juicyboy. See ye in a lil’ while, alright?”  
_“Yeah.”_  
  
_What on Earth would I do without ye, lil’ one?_  
  
_Or ye, my dear husband._  
  
He put the phone away and looked at the bed where his man was sleeping. He’d spent quite a long time for aftercare, having Ronea completely cried out in his arms before even getting the ointment. Ronea had really needed to just be held for a long time, resettling to his natural role as a sub and now he was just so relaxed again, hair like a messy fan over the pillow and his limp body now deprived of all clothes, ass looking like an ample fruit...  
  
Filip started to take his own clothes off. He’d been so focused on Ronea’s needs, he was still dressed save for the kutte, hoodie and boots and that wouldn’t do. The spanking had been hard this time and as Filip got naked and very gently laid down with husband, he made sure not to touch the glowing skin, not spooning but facing him.  
  
In his sleep, Ronea looked younger, even more so than some of the times when they’d both been actually young. Filip didn’t want to disturb his rest, he just took his hand, feeling the smallest curving of the fingers around his own.  
  
They were different. As people, as a couple. As gays, as men, as a biker and a homemaker. As the married couple falling in love with a third person and both having that love requited. But more than that, they were different in the way they’d worked with and prioritized their marriage throughout the years. One time, a couple of years after the wedding, a fairly new club member had commented on how henpecked a husband Filip had become for declining an all-night out drinking with the lads in favour of helping “the wifey” with the garden.  
  
Tig, who’d been within arms reach from the younger member, had grabbed him by the kutte and explained with ice in his voice, that disrespectful talking about any members’ – or even prospect’s – old man or old lady, wasn’t tolerated and _especially not_ the pres’ husband. If he didn’t get that, he could get his bony ass out of the club and kiss any chance of a patch goodbye.  
  
While the degratory talking hadn’t been funny to hear, Filip knew it came out of ignorance and immaturity. He’d accepted the now much meeker prospect’s mumbled apology and even patted his shoulder before heading home to his husband, who didn’t need help in the garden at all, which members like Tig and Bobby, whom he was close to, knew.  
  
The young lad was lucky he didn’t know, Filip had thought as he came home and found his husband stressed out of his mind from that goddamn PTSD. Ronea hadn’t hurt himself that time though, had managed to use the techniques from his therapist to stop it in time and as Filip held him, he both wished and didn’t wish, that the prospect would know how much strenght Ronea possessed by stopping himself and how the pride Filip felt was bloody endless. He wanted the prospect to know, to make him realise that being a devoted spouse wasn’t a bad thing and that asking for help wasn’t weakness, but he also didn’t wish him to _actually_ know, because only a psychopath would want anyone to suffer through the journey Filip and Ronea had made.  
  
He buried his nose slowly in his husband’s hair, smelling the brand of shampoo and conditioner he could never remember the name of, despite being the one who’d bought it the first time. Ronea was so strong, had survived so much but still needed Filip to look after him. Being spanked wasn’t quite the same for him and Juice. Ronea needed it to allow his need for submission to blossom, while Juice needed it to feel closure. Ronea only got aroused from the relaxion he felt afterwards, and Juice would get so hard it almost looked more painful than the red skin. He got extremely turned on and to be fair, that was probably more common for people who were into getting spanked, than the way Ronea was affected.  
  
In another way, which was funny that he’d not thought of before, himself, Ronea and Juice were a lot more alike than what one might think. They all thrived from pleasing, albeit in different ways. Filip never felt as happy and safe in himself and his roles as a husband, top and lover, as when Ronea and Juice both felt happy and safe. He wanted to please them, that was literally his main driving force in both relationships, but since it was shown in a dominant way, it often seemed hidden.  
  
Ronea knew, of course. Filip’s husband was sometimes scary intelligent and good at reading others so he’d figured that need out long before Filip had. He’d never tried to make Filip loose control or indicated that it would feel good for him too, because he knew it wouldn’t.  
  
Loosing control, to Filip, didn’t mean fear of someone else taking control over him. No, what he feared about it, what made it so stressful to him to loose it, came from a long string of ugly little pearls called a drunken da, a Glasgow smile, bikes flying off the road in an unexpected curve and the shocked people in party clothes who just froze on spot in the E.R. when hearing the _I am so sorry, ma’m/miss/sir, but…_  
  
The parents who’d never hold their son or daughter again, the partner who’d been cooking dinner when the call came, not knowing it was one portion too much. The child wondering when mommy or daddy would come back… A big sister starring with glassy eyes who’d never get to unsee the car ramming into her little sister, repeating out in the air: _She landed on grass… that’s softer than asphalt, right? Grass is soft…_ But not as soft as the nine-year-old in pig-tails who’d never use her bike or anything else, ever again.  
  
It hadn’t all been tragic endings during his volunteer working days, but it wasn’t the brutal accidents, even the deadly ones, most of the pearls on his growing rosary of human misery came from. He’d learned quickly to reckognize abuse when he saw it, probably because it had, in one form or another, been a constant part of his upbringing. Sometimes he’d been the victim, other times the shit scared eye witness and very often, he’d been the silent witness to poorly hidden bruises on class mates’ or neighbors’ arms, legs or faces.  
  
As much as it had been scary, painful and humiliating when da used his belt on his at the time small and scrawny child body, there’d been this silent understanding that this happened to all the other lads as well, and that knowledge had helped, since it meant you weren’t alone. You got paddled in school, you got whooped with the belt at home and then you went out to get into fights with your peers, learning to use your tiny little fists because that’s just how life was. Violence was so natural because you were rarely shown an alternative.  
  
Filip sighed into the pale neck. It was still hard to understand what exactly the battered man with broken fingers and a smile that said _don’t you fucking pity me_ had stirred up inside him that night. The bravery, perhaps. The way the man didn’t even bother to lie, too tired and all too intelligent and clear-headed even in this situation, to think Filip would accept it. The hopeless, exhausted eyes with smeared eyeliners, how he kept his head up, literally and figuratively, despite the pain and was graceful and strong in the midst of his broken bones, bruised face and the sore spots on his scalp where hands had pulled off fistfulls of hair.  
  
Behind the brave mask, Filip had seen the newspapers deadly headlines, the cards with phone numbers to support groups, the obituaries who wouldn’t or couldn’t ask for donations to this or that organisation for cancer or traffic casualty fond, because of the shame that followed the broken bodies and downtrodden souls to their lonely graves. And he didn’t knew the man at all, but he just couldn’t stand the idea of watching the news or opening the newspaper, asking himself: _Is it him?_  
  
Ronea still slept so calmly in his arms, so safe these days that not only did he bear to loose control with Filip, but asked for it. Needed it, because the other side of the complete loss of control an abusive partner or parent, was the extreme control of your own emotions. The constant compensation to keep yourself from falling that ultimately would grind you down in one way or another.  
  
The clock on his cell was ticking towards two and a half hours now and Filip took it again without waking Ronea, sending a text to Juice, asking if he was okay, letting him know he’d not been forgotten but Papi was still sleeping. The answer came fast, but not anxiously-staring-at-the-phone-fast and Filip couldn’t stop his own tears as he read it:  
  
_Don’t wake him up yet, Daddy. I’m alright. Love U <3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gaelish for my heart


	131. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Daddies had a good time away, the same isn't really true for Juice, but at least he's got Mr. Bunny.

“They’re coming back. Daddy and Papi are coming back soon, Mr. Bunny. D-don’t cry, Mr. Bunny, J-juice is here…”  
  
He’d slept through most of the alone time and had felt okay and almost strong when Daddy called and then texted. But now, a new patient had come in and he was loud, angry and unfortunately put into Juice’s room. The man’s wife was also loud and spoke too fast to everyone who entered. Logically, Juice understood, but emotionally was another matter and he was curled to a little roll under his blanket, squeezing Mr. Bunny to his chest.  
  
Mr. Bunny was scared and cried too, so Juice had to comfort him, of course. Bunnies were, after all, skittish little animals. Daddy had said so and Daddy was almost always right. Him and Papi were riding his bike, so they couldn’t take any calls on the ride to the hospital. How long would it take? They’d left a while ago, hadn’t they?  
  
The angry talking had turned into yelling and Juice put his hands over his ears, using his knees to keep Mr. Bunny close and shut his eyes.  
  
“Th-they’ll come back soon, they’ll come back soon, they’ll c-come b-b-back s-soon…”  
“Who’s the damn floorwalker here? I’ve been waiting for _thirty minutes_!”  
“Shh, M-mr. B-b-bunny, s-s-s’gonna be a-a-alright-t-t…”  
“Is this a children’s ward, since I’m forced to share this room with a… _snivelling kid_? Who’re _you_?”  
“I could ask you the same, _sir._ ”  
  
Papi!  
  
The drapery shielding him from the sight of the angry man but not his voice, was parted and oh, God, Papi was really back! Juice threw himself into his arms, shivering and sobbing into the crook of his neck.  
  
“P-pap-p-pi…”  
“Oh, baby boy, Papi’s so sorry… I’m so sorry we left you waiting for so long, angel… Sweet boy, did the man scare you?”  
“Y-yeah… C-came j-jus wh-when I w-was a-a-almost aslee-eep…”  
“My poor baby… Shh, don’t worry, Daddy and Papi will take care of it, my little love… There, there… S’gonna be alright, sweet thing…”  
“Keep yer voice down, aye, sir? Ye’re scaring the lad.”  
“Well, he’s been sobbing like a bitch for...”  
“Watch yer _fucking mouth_ , ol’ man.”  
  
Juice shivered from the low voice, but not entirely in a bad way. Daddy was here now, although he was behind the curtain, but he was taking care of the scary man and Juice and Mr. Bunny were safe again.  
  
“Juice? Mr. Telford? Everything alright?”  
“Aye it’s okay, Rose. Excuse me, but who’s tha’ man?”  
“We got an emergency transfer from another ward only fifteen minutes ago. I’m sorry, but there was nothing we could do and we were about to call, but the overcharge, you know…”  
“I understand, s’not yer fault, Rose. Thank ye for keeping an eye on our partner.”  
“No problem. Just press the button if you need anything, okay? I’ll talk to Mr. Brooks here too. We’ll try to solve this as soon as possible.”  
“Thank ye.”  
  
While Daddy spoke to the nurse, Papi had popped the pacifier in Juice’s mouth and kept rocking and comforting him. Juice grabbed his shirt and buried his face against his skin.  
  
“W-was f-f-fine before, P-papi. R-really was…”  
“I know, baby boy. The loud man scared you. Some people get angry when they’re in hospital, because it’s scary for them and instead of realising that, they become angry with really small things.”  
“I-I-I d-disturbed him, Papi…”  
“No, you didn’t, baby boy. You got scared when he was loud and that’s not your fault, angel.”  
  
But it felt like it was. He was ashamed and definitely not in the good laying across Daddy’s lap kind of way. Papi stroked his shoulders in circles.  
  
“Juice, you’re still unwell and no one likes a complete stranger making a scene all of a sudden by your sickbed. It’s perfectly normal to react the way you did. _Anyone_ could’ve gotten scared from this, sweetheart, _I_ certainly would’ve because you know how Papi gets when people scare him, especially when Daddy’s not around.”  
“Y-you wou-wouldn’t have g-gotten u-u-under the b-blanket like m-me, though.”  
“Baby boy, I would’ve locked myself in nearest restroom and not been able to answer whoever trying to make me open the door until Daddy was here. And had anyone opened from the outside for my own safety, as the staff here can and should do, I most certainly would’ve been so stressed I might’ve slipped into a flashback. Now, I don’t know about you, but in my world, pulling the blanket over your head and hugging Mr. Bunny is a _much_ better way to handle this.”  
“M-maybe, P-papi. But…”  
“But what, my love?”  
“S-still e-emb-barressing and… and I m-made a mess again.”  
“You made a… oh, _that_ kind of mess?”  
  
Juice nodded and Papi kissed his crown.  
  
“Sweetheart, you put a diaper on before we left, remember? Just in case, right?”  
“Y-yeah…”  
“So then what’s the problem with that, baby boy? Let me just give you a good cuddle and wait for Daddy, then we’ll take care of it. A few more minutes, okay?”  
“O-okay, P-papi.”  
“Good boy.”  
“I w-was fine b-before, Papi. R-really.”  
“That makes me the happiest Papi ever, baby boy. How did you spend your alone time?”  
“Sleeping, m-mostly. H-had a snack and w-watched some on the i-p-pad.”  
“Yeah? What did you watch?”  
“I-inside out. N-not all of it, though.”  
“The title does ring a bell... Did you like what you saw of it?”  
“Uh-huh. S’ Pixar.”  
“Well, then would you like for Papi to finish watching it with you, perhaps after lunch? I think it’s lunchtime soon.”  
“You wanna watch it too, Papi?”  
  
Papi now pulled him closer and hugged him hard. It was so relaxing to feel those strong arms encapsulating him and Juice felt his spine, that had been stiff like a string of stretched out pearls, start moving a little again under the loving hands. Papi buried his mouth onto his neck, nuzzling him.  
  
“Only if I can watch it with my brave, strong baby boy whom I love more than life.”


	132. Ronea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronea's husband may or may not have some good - or bad - news...

Had the spanking and talking not been so thorough, Ronea just knew this episode would’ve left his feelings of guilt combined with those mama bear tendensies unleashed and no one, not even Filip, could handle the _guiltridden_ rage of mama bear. Ronea was fiercly protective of his cub and while his husband would often joke about it, he also knew when he shouldn’t. This was one of those occasions.  
  
It wasn’t just the spanking that made him calm enough to just cuddle his baby boy and watch Pixar with him, but the pride he felt. Juice had been so brave, he’d not fallen into a flashback or even believed he’d been abandoned, which was nothing but increadible progress. Ronea’s baby boy had _known_ his Daddies would return and been able to hold off the black hole of terror from swallowing him whole. If that alone wasn’t a victory, Ronea didn’t know what was.  
  
_Inside Out_ turned out to be an hour and a half long, tear-drawing little gem and beatuiful insight in the start of the difficult and exhausting journey from childhood to adolescence, pictured from the views of young girl Riley’s emotions Joy, Fear, Anger, Disgust and Sadness. Ronea understood right away why this particular movie spoke to his baby boy. It very neatly sorted out and separated five strong emotions and gave them life without oversimplifying or degrading them or the girl who lived through them.  
  
It had taken quite some time for his boy to resettle again after the unfortunate misplacing of the angry man and he’d needed help with his diaper and then lunch. Juice had been able to eat by himself for a while now, but he’d been too shaky to concentrate on both eating and keeping his hands steady, so Ronea had simply changed him on some folded towels at the bathroom floor and fed him afterwards, finishing the cherry soup that was the dessert in a bottle. The babyfied treatmeant didn’t bother Juice, in fact, it was exactly what he needed right now and whether or not he was actually aware of that, he didn’t fight the urge but eagerly let Ronea take care of him. The shame wasn’t taking over at all, it seemed, and when Filip joined them after – Ronea assumed – having talked with either the doc or the nurse, Juice was enough settled to let go a little bit of Papi and share his need for comfort with Daddy too. Mr. Bunny, of course, was firmly tucked to his chest the entire time and once the cherry soup was finished, the pacifier got back into his mouth.  
  
Now, about fifteen minutes after the end credits of the emotional movie, Juice was snoozing between Ronea and Filip, completely calm again without even needing more sedatives. Filip reached for Ronea’s hand, folding them together across Juice’s hip.  
  
“Doc had some good news.”  
“Yeah?”  
  
They were whispering not to disturbe their baby boy and Filip stroked a thumb across the back of Ronea’s hand.  
  
“Aye. Apparantly, there’s this outpatient care facility outside Stockton for adults with… various mental health problems.”  
“Such as?”  
“Mainly severe anxiety o’ different kinds, don’ recall the details now. They might have a spot open in a couple o’ weeks, maybe sooner.”  
“Outpatient?”  
“Aye.”  
“Meaning?”  
“Tha’ we can take our lil’ one home an’ also, hopefully, help’im get the psychiatric treatment he needs, without leaving him alone more than a few hours a day.”  
  
Ronea swallowed.  
  
“That’s… that sounds almost too good to be true, baby.”  
“Think it’s bloody time something finally gets too good instead o’ the opposite, lovey, don’ ye agree?”  
“Amen to that, it’s just a bit hard to process in a minute, especially after you spanked my breath away.”  
“Oh, there’s more where tha’ came from if ye need it, darlin’.”  
“Not unless you want _me_ in diapers too. That was the spanking of the century, Filip.”  
“An’ judging by the way yer shoulders have gone down, ye needed every ounce of it.”  
  
Ronea had to bite his lip to stop a giggle from waking his boy up.  
  
“I so did, baby. I so did.”


	133. Filip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to come to an end to this part of the series and Daddy is, once again, in deep thoughts.

Despite growing up and remaining Catholic, Filip had never been one to believe in miracles and his contact with the Lord had been more than a little sparse over the years. He’d kept attending mass before work on Fridays, since the attenders were a lot fewer than on Sundays and he wasn’t religious enough to put God before Sunday breakfast with his husband. It also, for some reason, prepared him mentally to transfer from the engine grease and wheels to the role of not just husband coming home from work, but the husband Ronea needed on Fridays.  
  
Fridays were their correctional day, although Filip of course would correct Ronea anytime it was called for, but his husband needed the structure and stability a set day provided with and Filip happily obliged. By attending mass before work, Filip had found a half an hour extra gap for own reflection and honestly, he rarely listened to the priest at all, using the mass merely as his own frame of structure to scrutinise himself and his own behavior and state of mind during the week.  
  
Now, he’d not been to mass in weeks and honestly hadn’t even had time to miss the routine. Filip thumbed on his old rosary in his pocket, not actually praying, but the familiar movement stemming from his childhood was calming.  
  
His husband and lil’ one were both napping now and painted a truly peaceful picture in the hospital bed. As beautiful and inviting as Ronea had made Juice’s new room, it would probably take time before the lad could actually sleep in there by himself. Once they came home, Juice would sleep with them every night until he felt stable enough to try out the new bed. And that didn’t include the initial stress the possibility of the outpatient program would put on him. On all of them.  
  
On the other hand, Filip thought as he kept watching the two men he loved, they all longed to come home. To resettle into their routine. Some would be different, yes, but the frame of their everyday life together would very much be the same, or at least strive at it. While Ronea, even in his most vulnerable periods, had been quite flexible _within_ his set role and used the boundaries to explore and express himself in ways that sometimes just made Filip in complete awe, but Juice wasn’t even close to that even in his healthiest moments.  
  
Thinking of it though, Filip really wasn’t sure if the playfulness he’d experienced with his young lover in the beginning, had been healthy at all, or merely one of many expressions of fear and insecurity. If that was the case, then maybe this age regression wasn’t entirely an actual regression. It had seemed, since Juice got hospitalized, that the lad benefitted from the childlike state. It took away a lot of the shame usually blocking the way for him to reach out and that was a good thing. More so, Dr. Huang kept a very close eye on the lad and had stated several times throughout the weeks that Juice showed no signs of psychosis, personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder, which was a relief and a blessing if ever there was one.  
  
The tests, now as the doc had done what he could in this particular part of the care, did show alexithymia, ADD and, of ocurse, PTSD standing from childhood trauma. The ADD, as the doc had explained, could’ve been symptoms of said trauma, but the tests pretty much ruled that one out. The ADD, which in Juice’s case had a lot more of the female than classical male symptoms, had been described albeit with other words, since he was two and a half years old. Restlessness and short attention span were the main two that kept showing up in his files and one of the things that had alerted Dr. Huang was the mismatched hyper focusing Juice repeatedly had shown as soon as he got close to a computor, tv games or bikes. Sports were only his thing when he could actually do them, but watching? Nope. On the more troubling and gruesome parts of his journal, there were all the mentions of foster parents punishing and ridiculing him for not keeping times, forgetting stuff and getting lost.  
  
Juice had, which was actually really fucking stupid of Filip not to ask of or even discovering, used his phone calendar to an almost obsessive level, with notes and alarms, to control his life and it was probably just one hell of lucky coincidence that he’d not tried out illegal drugs to soothe the stress and chaos. Seeing where the trauma and PTSD ended and the ADD started, was impossible, but once they continued the healing process at home and Juice became more stable in that new setting, that would be a little easier to work with as well.  
  
No, Filip wasn’t particularly worried about the various diagnosis or even all the practical support his lad would need once they came home. What he was concearned of, was Juice’s fear.  
  
As far as Filip could tell, that fear was played out in numbness, detachment and, worst of all, emotional shutdown. It was only in a babyfied state that Juice seemed able to express that fear by reaching out, maybe because he’d actually had experienced a period of that kind of loving, allowing care with the nuns as a toddler. For a few months, there’d been not just one or two pair of loving arms, but several and they’d given him unlimited room for being a child and conditioned him to seek out and actually expect love and care from adults. It hadn’t lasted, but Filip was pretty sure those months had had a huge impact on Juice’s personality and why he hadn’t turned to violent behavior himself or stopped connecting human contact with the chance for love.  
  
Not that he’d not been suspicious or kept from forming any close relationships, but the longing had always been there and he’d experienced enough of how such love felt and looked like, he’d _known_ it wasn’t just an idea or impossible wish. The nuns’ love and care for young Juan Carlos, had probably saved him from developing sociopathic tendensies and though Filip was pretty sure they wouldn’t bless any part of the relationship their former nursling had formed with two men, they sure as hell would’ve wanted him to have a family and feel loved.  
  
Juice murmered in his sleep and Ronea automatically cuddled him while still being asleep himself. The Papi protecting his baby boy in his arms… The baby boy immediately soothed by the safety those arms gave him. Filip swallowed. He called Ronea mama bear as a loving way of teasing him, but the safety his husband gave Juice was not a joke. And all teasing aside, Ronea had a mother’s touch, there was just no doubt about it and without Juice, Filip would never have seen this truly beautiful side of his husband.  
  
Having Juice in their life, as a part of their relationship, had been and still was difficult and sometimes stressful, especially of late. It could be hard to see what the man actually added in terms of joy during these dark times, but Filip only had to watch his husband and lover sleeping like this to remember.  
  
Juice was the missing piece to both of them, but perhaps especially to Ronea. The motherly feelings the lad awoke in him, were not unhealthy or even confusing, but had just come to life so natural as their relationship developed. As with the love Ronea had for Filip, there were so many different aspects to the way he loved Juice. The mama bear was one, but when they’d still been sexual together, there’d been this adorable flirtatious side, the sassy seductiveness that just turned Juice to a puddle of melted awe.  
  
Filip had also experience how it was to be completely smitten by Ronea Tully, but he’d never shown his adoration in the way Juice did. Papi was baby boy’s guide in a whole other way than Daddy was and it was only as Juice had turned ill, that Filip had discovered how Papi’s guidence wasn’t a lack of need for Daddy at all. They completed each other in the different but still very much same way they cared for their skittish boy and if that little shamrock equation wasn’t love to Filip’s God, then God didn’t know what love – or a miracle – was.


	134. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second last chapter, where Juice has a much needed session with Dr. Huang.

“What do you say, Juice?”  
“What?”  
“What do you think about my suggestion?”  
“I… I thought it was…”  
  
He swallowed and looked away. The room they used for their conversation always felt a little too small and he automatically pulled his knees up against his chest, squeezing Mr. Bunny. The papers Dr. Huang had copied from the facility’s web page, had quite small text but several pictures. It looked nice, but of course it would, it was from their own web page. Well-groomed lawns, lush trees, bushes with flowers…   
  
It looked more like one of them alcoholic rehab centres, but on the other hand, Juice had never seen a psychiatric ward if you didn’t count movies and tv shows. _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ and _Celebrity Rehab_ probably weren’t the most reliable sources… But maybe his former foster parents weren’t either. Juice eyed the pictures again, seeing the garden, the people in normal clothes, the dogs... He took a deep breath.  
  
“D-don’ see no fences.”  
“That’s because there are none. It’s not a clinic for people who are a threat to themselves or others in that way. These patients are all there on their own free will and they are free to interrupt the treatment and leave whenever they choose to.”  
  
Juice huffed and looked at one of the pictures again, where a Golden Retriever was sitting next to an old lady on a bench.  
  
“No uniforms, huh?”  
“Only for the staff. There are some rules about items that could be used to self-harm, but otherwise, you’re allowed to dress in your own clothes.”  
“What about ink?”  
“Juice, listen to me: there is nothing wrong with your looks. There’s nothing wrong with your body and you’re an adult with every right to have ink or a funny haircut or piercings. You don’t have a very positive picture of mental health care, have you?”  
  
Now Juice laughed.  
  
“Does anyone, doc?”  
  
Dr. Huang gave one of those smiles that actually seemed pretty sad, as if he pitied people who didn’t see this the way he did.  
  
“There are a lot of misconceptions and prejudices against mental health care and partly, it’s no wonder considering how it used to be. But these days, well, of course there are places that don’t work as they should and yes, there are those who use quack methods that at best are useless and at worst dangerous, but I would never admit you to a place like that.”  
“Looks expensive…”  
“It’s not the cheapest alternative, no, but it’s not crossing the line for the more expensive half. With your health insurance, I think you can afford it.”  
“Maybe…”  
  
The doc looked serious again.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s high time for you to put yourself first, Juice.”  
“What do you mean? I’ve always put myself first and I don’t even have a fa…”  
  
He stopped himself, realising he wasn’t sure what he meant. He had no one but himself to provide for, no, but…  
  
“Th-they’re though…”  
  
He clutched Mr. Bunny harder.  
  
“P-papi a-and Daddy… They’re f-family… _M-my_ family…”  
  
He’d never said that. Papi and Daddy had, plenty of times, but Juice never had. Not until now. It felt so strange to say it. The doc nodded.  
  
“Yes, they are. You’re a family, Juice, the three of you. And I think Filip and Ronea are the first to put your needs first for a very, very long time.”  
  
Juice swallowed. It was getting too close now, he wasn’t in control of this. Of what he felt, what he  showed of it.   
  
“I imagine it still feels extremely strange to you, the idea of being loved and cared for by other people.”  
“Stop… Please…”  
  
It hadn’t even been a year since he drunk-stumbled into Papi’s roses and finally, in this conversation room – or whatever kind of room it was – on a hospital ward where he now at least could eat, walk and take a piss by himself again, the simple truth slammed down on him hard enough for his weird, weird brain to crack open.  
  
The fear, that constantly gnawing anxiety he couldn’t name. The tension that kept creeping back despite meds, comfy beds, massages and God knew what. A deep-seated belief, a certitude, that they only way someone like him could have a taste of that sweet bliss of comfort a loving family could provide, was by playing a game. Playing the little one, turning it to a make-believe, a little kink to whip out and then tuck back once playtime was over.  
  
Papi and Daddy… They had fulfilled so much of that game, it long ago stopped being thrilling. It had been about the excitement in kneeling before their authority, knowing they still respected his boundaries. Their game had built up his trust without him realising it, and slowly the tension and stress outside that little bubble, had grown too heavy to carry around and that’s when he’d tried to pull away.   
  
He’d never, not for a second, believed that his lovers would’ve come looking for him. That they’d be actually worried… Not for a plaything easily replaced with another twink. The idea of being loved and cared for, hadn’t been _strange_ back then, but utterly and simply impossible.  
  
The doc handed him a tissue, he’d not even realised he was crying, maybe because Mr. Bunny’s plush fur caught the tears.  
  
“If you met a child who’d gone through those things you did as a kid, Juice, wouldn’t you think that he or she deserved healing? Some happiness in life? If you saw a fifteen-year-old boy, living the kind of life you did at the time, and you had the option to either let him keep suffering, or giving him a chance for a better life, what would you choose?”  
  
Juice snorted through his tears.  
  
“The latter, of course.”  
“Well then… That fifteen-year-old, or five-year-old, ten- or twenty-year-old, is sitting right here in this room, along with your thirty-year-old, Juice. You’re an adult now and you have the chance to make a far better choice for that hurt little boy that’s still very much a part of you. Will you help him, like Papi and Daddy do, or keep hurting him, like men like Orson did?”


	135. Ronea/Filip/Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, last chapter of part 3 and we get all three boys in 1st person pov for the first time. This will end "Shamrock Equation" but not the series, of corpse. I will start on part 4 as soon as possible, because we're not really coming to a neat conclusion where things are wrapped up and done here. It's my intention to keep the healing process going, develop their relationship and keep revisiting Filip's and Ronea's history - and Juice's too.
> 
> I want to thank ALL of you who've read, subscribed, commented and bookmarked my crack ship, since it's such a rare trio, so far out of canon, the reception of this idea could've gone either way. I'm so grateful for the response and I want you to know that I deeply appreciate every little comment, thought, feeling and idea you share with me <3<3<3
> 
> I hope I'll see you soon in part 4 and since I don't do a serious and responsible plan for my writing, the first chapter of part 4 could come either today or in a month :p If you have any thoughts, ideas or wishes for part 4, let me know in the comments or on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/onlyonewoman 
> 
> *kisses, hugs and much gratitude to y'all*

**Ronea**  
Your eyes are wet after the session, but you’re still my sunshine, baby boy. My absolute sunshine and yet you have so much darkness inside. Those bright smiles and loving eyes you give us, easy as breathing, where do they come from? Even now, as you’re emotionally drained from your latest talking with the doc, you still have a smile to share, a gaze to throw, a touch to give. I was never that open, nor was my husband, and still we ended up hurt. It breaks my heart to know what people did to wipe that sunshine smile from your lips.  
  
There’ve been moments when I’ve been scared, baby boy. I’ve feared for you, for our relationship, for myself. I’ve never explored the dominant side of myself before, only the defensive one. My God, you have no idea how much of a barrier I had put up when I met Filip. How years of shame, fear and guilt, first for simply falling out of the norm – the 80’s and 90’s weren’t always that fun, I’ll tell you –and later for staying with a man who abused me in pretty much every way.  
  
I can’t compare to your childhood – or lack of it – but I do know some about getting grinded down under the heel of someone who was supposed to love me. It didn’t happen overnight, I learned it, day by day, week by week, a little more month by month until my relationship was four years old and I had lost myself, one trampled piece in the dust at a time.  
  
I know what it’s like when abuse is all you know, to the point where you mistake it for love. When the hands who left you with bruises and tears, sometimes as early as minutes afterwards, suddenly turn soft and caring again and later, when the shame overwhelmes you, you’re asking yourself why you didn’t walk away this time. Often, the comfort felt worse than the punches, slaps, kicks and tugs, because accepting it meant I truly had no dignity left. None, what so ever. And a human without dignity, well… Is it really a human anymore?  
  
When I first met Filip, I used to smile too much, just like you did, baby boy. That kind of smile that doesn’t come from happiness at all, but self-preservation. I could see you were hurting, just not how and it was such a long time since I’d learned to face my own pain, I think I sort of forgot how it felt back then. Once you’re able to put a nasty memory away and not being hurt by it like you used to, you certainly don’t want to look at it unless you’re forced to. I know you have no difficulties undestanding that.  
  
Marrying Filip is the best decision of my life, but it didn’t come without sacrifices. I lost my friends, all of them, not just those I had in common with my ex. I’d already lost my mom, and when my dad joined the pentecostal church, I realised that I would loose him too. You should’ve heard what people said about your Daddy, sweetheart. The nasty comments on his looks and MC lifestyle. His Scottish heritage, the scars and his initially reserved nature with the people I thought were my friends.  
  
For so long, I was trapped between what I wanted and the shame I felt for my longing. The gaslighting, not just the leftovers from Aaron, but from my so called friends. Was I really in love with this guy? Wasn’t I just mimicking the unhealthy relationship I’d just left? Did I throw myself at him just because he’d been the one to help me at the E.R.? Shouldn’t I stop relying on another man for my happiness and just _pull myself together_? Didn’t I realise that by being so submissive, I had probably _spurred Aaron on_? That I would never be happy if I didn’t put a stop to _that part_ of myself.  
  
I had no one to talk to, no one who could offer me an outside view, until Filip literally demanded I’d see a therapist. A few months earlier, I probably would’ve ditched him for that, as damaged as I was from Aaron’s abuse, but oh, baby boy, I was so in love by then… So freaking in love and I had no words for the sense of safety the man you call Daddy gave me. I just knew how tired I was, how all the different voices claiming to know what was right for me got so loud, I couldn’t have found my own, even if Aaron hadn’t already gagged it.  
  
I agreed to the therapy and while I hated it, felt so uncomfortable and ashamed about the whole thing, there was just that tiny little piece of me, sighing in relief the very moment I accepted my boyfriend’s ultimatum. He didn’t force me, I had to make a choice and I chose him, but as I realised later on, I had really chose _myself_ , with him as a part of that choice.  
  
He was there, helping me to pick up the shatters of my everytime I crashed and burned, but I was the one who had to put them back together. You see, sweetheart, when you love someone you’re not trying to re-shape them into something you want. You don’t have a fixed pattern you force the shatters into and hope for a whole picture of your choice. No, you collect them carefully, with gentle hands, trying to see which part fit where, without force, and eventually, some of them will fit.  
  
That’s what the man you call Daddy did. When he looked at me, he didn’t see wrecks from something broken to fix. He saw my wounds, more than I could bear at times, but he never saw an object for renovation or some fragile thing who was too stupid and weak to know what was best for him. He saw _me_ , Juicy. Me, just as I was, with the shattered as well as the whole parts, the fake smiles and the real one, the backbone I’d lost contact with, the tears I’d swallowed down, drowning me from the inside.  
  
And he didn’t shy away. If I ran, he ran with me, but never after. If I stopped, so did he, when I fell, he reached his hand out and if I shoved it away, he stepped back, sat down and waited for me to make a choice. When I was too tired to put up resistance any longer, too wornout from the battle tearing my brain apart, he was still there, baby boy, waiting, not like a predator watching his prey become weak enough to make the hunt easier, but almost like a shephard, patiently waiting for the most skittish animal in the flock to accept help. Because to him, my will, my wishes and my desires, were just as important as his. I’d never felt that with a man before, ever, or a woman except for my mother.  
  
It took many years, angel, but I finally learned that what I’d thought was Aaaron’s way of loving me, had been abuse and that I deserved better. That I could have the domestic discipline I so craved, but on my terms, with a man who adored me, not as an object to shape and show up, but for the person I’d forgotten I was.  
  
And when you, my brave, brave lover, can smile without fear or shame, I know you will look at me with those dark eyes, silently saying: _you were right, Papi, I too deserve to be loved..._  
  
  
**Filip**  
There are times when I forget we’re not the norm, lil’ one. Tha’ _I’m_ not the norm. Ye an’ Ronea make it so easy for me to be who I am, I find myself almost dazed when reminded I’m not – we’re not – in  fact, the norm in any way. Tha’ our way o’ living, is a way most people would find if not depraved so at least bloody weird.  
  
I guess, for some doms, it’s a wee bit easier to express tha’ side with others, than it’s been for me. Jus’ as there’s a gap between those who can accept an’ even respect the BDSM community although not wanting to be a part o’ it in any way, there’s also a wedge between those who’re content with the sexual aspects o’ dominance an’ submission, an’ people like us, who need to extent tha’ concept further. I would lie if I said I feel no joy or sense o’ power from being in charge.  
  
At first, when I started my relationship with yer Papi, lovey, I was ashamed o’ how much I loved to dominate him and dealt with tha’ shame by telling myself I did it only because _he’d_ asked me to. Of course, tha’ wasn’t the whole truth, but ye’re not alone in not always being able to be true to yerself. Only sociopaths are void o’ shame, lil’ one – an’ they’re the ones who really have a reason to be ashamed. The human mind is a fucked up machine…  
  
Ye may find it difficult to understand, lil’ one – or on the contrary, ye grasp tha’ feeling easily – but I never feel as powerful as when ye an’ my husband ask me to take control. When I can relieve ye from whatever stress an’ fear it is tha’ overpowers ye at the moment, an’ jus’ be the rock ye can crash against without getting hurt.  
  
When either o’ ye look at me with those eyes tha’ are jus’ swimming with trust, whether it’s after a spanking, a coming-down from an orgasm, an exhausting but frutiful talking or jus’ simple happiness tha’ I’m back from work, I sometimes ask myself wha’ on Earth I’ve done to earn tha’ amount o’ trust, not jus’ from one, but _two_ men. An’ in my mind, there’s this nasty lil’ thought reminding me tha’ I’m not almighty, tha’ I cannae protect ye from all evil, manmade or not, an’ tha’ I wannae lock ye both up in a happy place where no one can ever see, hear or touch ye ever again. Then I regain my senses to kiss ye.  
  
I’ve never considered myself a particularly good person, lil’ one. Being a _decent_ human being, shouldna be a bloody wonder o’ the world. But although I’ve met my share o’ greasy scumbags before yer Papi an’ before ye, I don’ think I can ever truly understan’ how almost exotic the idea o’ not being treated like shite, is to ye an’ so many others. There’s a bond between ye an’ yer Papi, lil’ one, something I’m equally grateful an’ frustrated I cannae understand like ye do, because it alienates me in a way – an’ when I find myself almost bein’ a wee bit jealous o’ tha’ bond, I immediately feel shame an’ disgust for forgetting wha’ horrors tha’ bond is made o’.  
  
I don’ wannae break it, jus’ make the other ones stronger.  
  
Ye’re very needy now, an’ I welcome it, lil’ one, because it doesn’t mean ye’re getting worse or weak – Mary, Mother o’ God, I’m not even sure my husban’ is as strong as ye, laddie! No, ye’re not weak for curling up between us, unsure o’ which one o’ us ye wan’ to shield yer back an’ who’s chest ye wannae bury yer beautiful face into this time. Ye need for me to be yer security now, so I am an’ make the decision for ye, bending yer head onto me. An’ it breaks my heart knowing tha’ ye don’ see how this expression of a need to be small, held an’ protected, isn’t weakness at all, but a strenght I could only dream o’ possessing.  
  
The strenght it takes for a grown man to not jus’ admit when he feels small an’ weak like tha’ child he once was, but to ask for another grown man – two men – to tend to tha’ wee bairn until the grown man has caught his breath an’ can rise again.  
  
An’ I know ye will, my lad. My beloved Juicyboy, my submissive partner, my lover.  
  
The third leaf of our still unsolved Shamrock equation. I hope ye’ll one day accept the key as yers too. Tha’ ye may see us for the unit we are.  
  
  
**Juice**  
I’m not good on my own. You say I’m a good boy, a good lad, but you don’t see me on my own and I’m terrified you will. Cause when I’m on my own, the borders, the boundaries are dissolved and I no longer know who I am, what I think or feel. Which thoughs are my own, which feeling belonging where and why – and the origin of it. That would mean the boy you’ve taken care of for so long, doesn’t really exist.  
  
I’ve been with several guys in the past. Some of my own age, those never lasted too long, and some older that just didn’t work out. I’ve been with men who only wanted to fuck me, or control me or both. A good dog rather than a good boy, but I just felt like a stray in a choke collar... It’s not easy to talk in one of those, so I just smiled. I still do. If there’s anything I’ve become really good at, it’s smiling until my face muscles are cramped. Come thinking of it, I’m not sure there’s anything I’ve _not_ done to point of hurting. At least that’s a feeling I can place.  
  
It’s not that I’ve not been in love before, because I have. I think... Problem is, I guess, that I’ve never really known how to handle it and that’s how I end up fucking things up. I ask for too much that’s not mine to have. You say that’s just my past, the people who’ve hurt me, talking, but how would _you_ know? You’ve only known me for about a year, and most of that time you’ve not really known me at all, have you? When you’ve come close enough to see, I’ve never let my guard down without force. Well, not force in the usual meaning, I know and I definitely feel the difference between your kind of force and other people’s.  
  
Simply put: you’re not anything like my foster parents or previous partners, okay? Not the bad ones and I’m slowly starting to realise, they were in majority. They were _my_ majority, _my_ normal and the love you’re wasting on me, isn’t. I mean, 30 years and some months compared to not even a year is a hell of a lot more. You’re treating me like I belong to you, not as a thing to be owned, but as family, and I still have no clue how to handle that.  
  
There must be something really fucked up with me, for only being able to _play_ family, right? That must mean I’m not capable of doing it for real, to actually have a family in any form. I’ve always been close to families, I’ve watched them together, sometimes they’ve been superior and sometimes they sucked ass, most of the times that thing I assume you call normal. But I’ve never been a participant, just a spectator and as I realised that scenario kept repeating itself in every family that took me in, I came to the conclusion I just wasn’t… worthy?  
  
The doc says I’m not a sociopath, or psychotic or anything else serious in that way. That I have feelings just like everyone else, only I often don’t reckognize them for what they are. That I learned so early on to shut them down, I never really got to know them – and by not knowing my feelings, I don’t know myself either. So, if I don’t know myself, then how can you know it’s actually me you love, Papi and Daddy? What if this, the Juice you see now, is just another mask, one I’m not deliberately putting up, but… just all I know about myself?  
  
No, I’m not good on my own, but I’m not good with others either, am I? I should walk away, that would be the responsible thing to do, right? To spare you more wasting of your time, money and above all, feelings on someone who doesn’t even know who he is.  
  
Yes, I should leave you. I should pull out, one step at the time, when I’m stable enough to live on my own and start working again.  
  
I _should,_ but I _can’t._  
  
Because I’m addicted to the way you say my name. To the Scottish brogue and drowsy Ohio accent slipping countless pet names for me, that our agreement never stated as a rule. I’m addicted to your touches, the kindness in your strong hands and how you’re tucking me close to your chest so I can hear your heart beats.  
  
I’m addicted to letting go of control with you, testing the boundaries and – yes – your patience. I shouldn’t put you through this, but it’s gone too far for me to stop myself now and I’m addicted to that too. I know it must crash and burn eventually, that I will wear you out and ruin everything. I’m ashamed and self-hating, but also selfish and so goddamn scared.  
  
Because I love you both and I’ve finally crossed the line I never thought I’d cross with anyone before. The one where I, for the first time in my life, am more afraid of loosing someone, of loosing _you_ , than for you to see me as the trainwreck I am.  
  
I can’t leave and I wont. You’ve got me stuck onto your hearts and mine has started to beat with the rhythm of yours. When this ends, when your hearts stop beating for mine, I just know that mine will stop too. Not for you, but for everything else.  
  
Yes, Papi and Daddy, I know you will become tired of me one day, but until that eventually happens, I will shut my eyes and mind, and pretend that you will hold me like this forever, close to your hearts.  
  
And a part of me I don’t dare listening to, will keep whispering: _what if it was true… What if it’s really true…_


End file.
